


Amnesia

by intothesilentland



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - After College/University, Amnesia, Amnesiac Cas, Amnesiac Castiel, Angel!Castiel, Angels are not Dicks, Bottom Dean, D/s undertones, Destiel - Freeform, Dom!Cas, Gentle Dom Cas, Humans are racist to angels, Humans are really kind of the dicks, M/M, Married Life, Memory Loss, Sub!Dean, Top Cas, human!dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-28
Updated: 2015-01-24
Packaged: 2018-02-23 00:06:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 27
Words: 77,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2526656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/intothesilentland/pseuds/intothesilentland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world where angels face oppression and discrimination from humans, Castiel wakes in a hospital bed with no recollection of the past decade of his life, or why it is he chose to fall in love with, much less marry a human. As he attempts to gather his memories and understand the angel he has apparently become; he also finds himself, however reluctantly, falling in love with Dean Winchester, once more. </p><p>Dom/Sub undertones, Sub!Dean and Dom!Cas</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Upon Waking

**Author's Note:**

> After an accident, Castiel finds himself with no memories of what has happened to him over the past nine years. Angels and humans live alongside eachother, however, their existence together can hardly be described as harmonious; and, as humans are agonisingly prone to doing, they oppress angelkind for their differences. Which is why Castiel is so disgusted with himself when he discovers that he has been married to one Dean Winchester, a human, for almost two years.
> 
> Other notes: There's a fucktonne of dom/sub undertones in this ( I'm going to be putting a warning on any chapters with smut scenes in them and where these scenes will be located relative to the chapter, so you can avoid if you'd so wish.)

 

 

Buzzing white. Castiel is dragged out of silence into a world of buzzing white where nothing  _really_ seems to make sense. There is a pressure on his hand. Warm. Firm. Guilty. It should be familiar, but it isn't. There is another pressure on his arm. This one isn't warm. It's cold and hard and seems almost medical. The air has the bitter tang of something pharmaceutical. Disinfected. Sterilised. Castiel can't seem to slide fully into consciousness. He just lapses in and out of states of sleep and semi-sleep, into a world filled with muffled voices and the blurred outlines of silhouettes in front of bright, white light. Buzzing white lights. Castiel thinks he hears his name. Perhaps. Muffled in his ears by the constant buzzing. And beeping. Constant beeping.

"Castiel?"

Concern. Maybe panic. The pressure on his arm tightens. There is a pain to the right of Castiel's chest.

Beep, Beep.

"I think he's coming to."

The voice is hard, formal. Flat. Professional. Words reel off the top of Castiel's head, none of them holding any more meaning than the last. He cannot think in anything other than short sentences. His skull is hurting. It hurts to think.

"Cas?" The pressure on his hand squeezes tighter. This voice holds panic and remorse and something like care, and a great deal of it, as it speaks to Castiel. Is it speaking to Castiel? It speaks as if it knows him, this disembodied voice—but it's unfamiliar, unknown and alien in the ears of Castiel. His right wing hurts. His left wing hurts, too, coming to think of it.

Beep, Beep.

Another squeeze.

"Cas?"

"Give him space—" Hard, flat, professional voice has now added reprimand to the mix of sounds stirred into its tone. Cool, condescending reprimand.

"He's my  _husband—"_ Caring voice now sounds agitated. The pressure on Castiel's hand has slipped, somewhat. Distracted.

"He's  _my brother!"_ First voice shouts. Female. Distressed.  _Rachel._

Castiel gasps. A mask is on his face. The buzzing hasn't stopped. The lights have got brighter. The silhouettes are clearer.

Beep, Beep.

"Castiel, can you hear me?" Professional voice sounds only slightly more personal. Marginally more caring.

Castiel tries to answer. He really does. But it hurts his head, and the lights above him feel like they're shattering into his skull. He tries to shift his wing, his right wing, but this action sends splintering pain along the length of it and into his shoulder blade.

"Give him more morphine." The professional voice says. A quieter voice, more distant, obedient, confirms that they are carrying out the instruction.

"But that'll send him back to sleep—"

"Did you not hear his cry of pain?" Professional voice has turned hard, again.

"Yes, but—"

 _"Then don't object when I suggest lessening your_ husband's  _suffering."_ Professional voice bites.

Castiel can hear Rachel biting down on a sob. He wants to reach out, to open his eyes, find her hand— _Rachel—_ he tries to speak, but it doesn't work, and the world is slipping away from him, again. The buzzing fades. Sleep descends.

Castiel hasn't even noticed the absence of the pressure on his hand.

And then it returns. The pressure. The soft squeeze—timid and caring and guilt-ridden—it  _should_ be familiar, Castiel  _knows_ it should, but it isn't; and it's just as foreign as it intends to be caring.

The voice speaks again. Most of the noises it makes are muffled in Castiel's ears, and he doesn't catch many of them. But he makes out his name—or at least what he thinks is his name—perhaps what the caring voice knows as his name, or knows Castiel as; but he has no recollection of it—of the voice, this apparent nickname, or who owns the voice. It's not that he doesn't like the sound of it. It's warm and soft and speaks as though Castiel is all that matters; but it's not anything that Castiel recognises. Everything is unfamiliar.

His eyes flicker for a moment.

"He opened his eyes—" The voice calls out, but to whom, Castiel cannot tell. The voice is raw and desperate and exhausted, and try as he might Castiel cannot think of who might own it. "—Only for a second, but—"

"But he may be coming to, again." Another voice says. This one is new. It is not as removed as the professional voice, but still seems to remain in some distance of propriety as it speaks.

Beep, Beep.

Things are hurting less, at least. The pain in Castiel's skull has dulled down significantly, and his wings simply feel numb. He knows this should panic him. But it doesn't. His mind is moving slowly, as if drunk. The buzzing has ceased. Or at least Castiel thinks it has. The voices around him are continuing as before. Blurred by Castiel's own drowsiness. He doesn't know where he is, why he's there. It's as though things have shifted, out of place, as though something is odd, missing—or perhaps something new and foreign has been added to the air around Castiel. He can't work it out.

Something is wrong.

He opens his eyes.

"Cas?" The warm, caring voice asks again. He blinks. A light is flashed into his eyes. He frowns and blinks again. A latex-gloved hand holds open his eyelid—he tries to protest, but speaking is surprisingly difficult—and shines the light into his eyes, again. Castiel hears fingers clicking to one side of his head and turns to face them, but they've moved round to his other side and are snapping again before Castiel has fully turned his head. He cannot see at all far ahead of him, although he is finding his senses are returning to him, however slowly, once again.

"Reflexes are looking good." A new, still professional voice states. Several others mumble incoherent things that Castiel cannot even begin to bring himself to decipher, all around him.

"Cas?" The voice repeats. Nervous. Desperate. Hopeful.

The pressure on his hand is there, again. Castiel had almost forgotten about it.

Beep, Beep.

"Where is Rachel?"

The room falls silent.

Castiel realises that he has spoken. He blinks again. Tries to sit up. It doesn't work.

"Rachel," He rasps, again. His voice is raw. It rakes against his throat as he attempts to speak, and he wonders just how long it has been since he last spoke. "Where is she? Where is my sister?"

Things are coming a little more into focus. Hands move Castiel to sit upright.

"She's just getting a drink—I'll go fetch her." A voice says. Castiel blinks. It's a nurse, who moves to exit. He's in a hospital room. He is surrounded by more nurses and doctors—and the pressure on his hand is still there—he turns to face it—and sees a face. A  _human_  face. The face is smiling across at him like seeing Castiel awake is some huge relief, but Castiel doesn't know who this person is. Or why a  _human,_ of all people, is even  _associating_  themselves with Castiel—let alone looking at him like  _that._

"Cas," The human beams. "You're awake."

Castiel frowns. He looks down at the hand wrapped around his own.

"Who are you?" He finds himself almost scowling—out of confusion and fear and distrust—because Castiel has never encountered a friendly human before. Humans are unpleasant and oppressive and in Castiel's experience, generally extremely bigoted and cruel; particularly towards Castiel and his people.

"Cas—" The human's voice cracks, slightly, and his voice twists suddenly with a combination of worry and hurt. "—It's me."

"Who are you?" Castiel repeats, his jaw setting into a hard, definite line.

"Can't you remember?" The human asks, voice cracking still more. "You can't—Cas, it's  _me—"_

"I did say some memory loss would be likely." The first professional voice says, from the foot of Castiel's bed. Castiel turns to see a doctor, face sombre, with dull, grey wings.

"Yeah, but you wouldn't say he wouldn't  _know_ me—" The human's voice turns distressed, angry. Castiel turns to look at the human again. He scowls at the expression he is wearing—at the fact that he is directing this aggression and resentment towards an angel—although it should come as nothing as a surprise—but more than anything, Castiel scowls at the fact that he has apparently chosen to associate himself with a human.

"Who are you?" He repeats, his face setting with something hard and bitter. The human attempts to squeeze his hand again, some kind of reassurance intended to stifle Castiel's anger, but it only rouses it further. Castiel tears his hand from the human's grip and glowers at him.

"Cas—" The human's face crumples. "—I'm—I'm your husband."

Castiel's heart stops beating. He glares at the human—he's lying, Castiel  _knows_ that he's lying—but his gaze flits down to his hand—the hand the human had previously holding onto tighter than life itself.

His eyes graze down to his fourth finger. To his ring finger. His hardened expression trembles. Just once. Just before he manages to compose himself, again. But then his eyes flit over to this human's left hand. To  _his_ ring finger. And his heart sinks into his stomach.

Castiel doesn't know where he is; where his sister is; why he is there;  _when_ it is— even who  _he_ is has become a mystery to himself. He doesn't know what he's become. What he stands for. If he stands for anything, anymore.

And worse than all of these unanswered questions storming around the inside of Castiel's skull is one truth, more terrible than any of the other details of Castiel's current circumstance.

Castiel is married to a human.


	2. Explanations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “How much do you remember?” The human asks, tentatively. His voice sounds as though it is seconds away from collapse.
> 
> “I remember that my name is Castiel.” He answers, wishing he didn’t have to look at the human. Something is curling in disgust in the pit of his stomach. “I remember that I am an angel—that I have a sister, whose name is Rachel—that our parents are dead because of you and your people—that there was a time when I wouldn’t even associate myself with humans, but apparently that time has passed—”
> 
> “Castiel!” Rachel enters the room. Her eyes are red and swollen—the tears forming at their corners seem to be those of relief. Castiel softens as soon as he sees her. He feels something warm coil in his gut. She throws her arms around him. “I was so worried—” She chokes. “Are you okay?”
> 
> “I’m fine.” He replies, softly, stroking her cream wings. He smiles as she squeezes his body tightly against her own. “Although perhaps not well enough to be held that tightly, just yet.” He chuckles. Rachel lets out a teary laugh and pulls back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Updates should come every few days)

* * *

 

“You don’t remember anything?” The human’s voice trembles.

Castiel scowls. The human looks hurt, at this.

“I remember everything that matters.”

“Cas, I’m your _husband—”_

“You’re a _human.”_

The doctor coughs awkwardly. Uncomfortably. A reminder that he is still present. Still there.

“How much do you remember?” The human asks, tentatively. His voice sounds as though it is seconds away from collapse.

“I remember that my name is Castiel.” He answers, wishing he didn’t have to look at the human. Something is curling in disgust in the pit of his stomach. “I remember that I am an angel—that I have a sister, whose name is Rachel—that our parents are dead because of you and your people—that there was a time when I wouldn’t even _associate_ myself with humans, but apparently that time has passed—”

“Castiel!” Rachel enters the room. Her eyes are red and swollen—the tears forming at their corners seem to be those of relief. Castiel softens as soon as he sees her. He feels something warm coil in his gut. She throws her arms around him. “I was so worried—” She chokes. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” He replies, softly, stroking her cream wings. He smiles as she squeezes his body tightly against her own. “Although perhaps not well enough to be held _that_ tightly, just yet.” He chuckles. Rachel lets out a teary laugh and pulls back.

“Sorry,” She replies, shaking her head, wiping the tears of her cheek with the palm of her hand. She looks older than Castiel remembers. Much older. The last time he saw her she was a teenager; a young lady, barely old enough to go out alone late in the day—now, although she is still certainly a young lady, she is certainly no longer a teenager, a child. She has filled out her frame; her blonde hair is now past her shoulders, she is almost certainly taller, and her face has changed subtly, the bones set in a harder, firmer way than her fairly timid childhood self had seen. “I’m so glad you’re okay.” She laughs. Castiel’s lips twitch upwards, into a rare smile. It was only ever his sister who could pull these smiles from his lips.

“You look older.” Castiel observes, taking in Rachel’s clothing, even the way she _holds_ herself seems far more mature than Castiel is comfortable seeing his sister being.

Rachel frowns.

“What do you mean?”

“He’s got some memory problems.” The doctor at the back of the room fills in. Rachel glances back at him, her face concerned, before looking at Castiel again.

“Is that true?” She asks, worry twisting at her face.

“You tell me.” Castiel shrugs.

“How much do you remember? What’s the last thing you remember?” She squeezes at Castiel’s shoulder as she speaks, as though she is toeing the line of desperation. Castiel notes, absently, that she even _sounds_ older, too. He feels a slight twinge at his heart that he is unable to recall his sister growing into the young woman she is today; that he cannot remember any of this.

“Well, the last I remember, you were turning fifteen in only a few weeks.” He states, slowly. Yes, that sounds about right. Rachel looks stunningly taken aback.

“Castiel—that was _years_ ago—”

“How long ago?” Castiel asks. “How long ago, exactly?” Rachel looks down, her face trembling. Castiel reaches out his hand to graze it against his sister’s. She looks, brokenly, back up at him; and he reminds himself of just how hard this must be for her. “How much have I missed out on?”

“I turned twenty-four last month.”

Castiel looks down.

Nine years. Nine years of his life have gone missing.

“Does that mean—” Rachel looks up. She glances at the human sat next to Castiel—who, the angel has to admit, he had forgotten about, since the arrival of his sister. “—You don’t remember Dean?” She asks. Her face is lined with worry, now.

“Dean?” Castiel frowns. He knows she is speaking of the human. Of the man who is apparently now his husband. But he desperately doesn’t want to acknowledge this.

“Me.” The human says, quietly. He is looking at his palms, rested on his lap. His hands are shaking. “That’s me.”

Castiel’s jaw clenches.

“I realised.” He states, flatly.

“Castiel—” Rachel tries to say, but the human sighs, then stands, brokenly.

“Don’t worry about it.” He tries to brush off. His voice betrays him—it cracks as he speaks, coming out strained and forced and almost painfully fractured. “—I know when I’m not wanted. I’ll leave you two alone.”

He makes his way to leave. Dejected.

“Dean—” Rachel tries again. The human is gone before she can attempt to stop him, a third time. She turns back to Castiel, her face hard. “What was _that_ for?” She scowls, pinching Castiel’s left wing sharply as she does so.

 _“Ow!”_ Castiel exclaims, scowling at his sister. “You _do_ realise that I’ve injured my wings, don’t you? That hurt!”

“Good!” She exclaims. “Are you going to explain to me why you were being such a dick to _Dean—”_

“He’s a _human,_ Rachel.” Castiel spits. “I married a _human!”_

“I know!” Rachel replied. “I was a bridesmaid at your wedding!”

“How could you have been a bridesmaid if there wasn’t a bride—”

Castiel’s comment is cut off by another sharp pinch to his wing.

“Rachel, that _hurts—”_

“Good!” She repeats, scowling at her older brother. “Hopefully you’ll stop trying to be clever, now! Dean is a good man! He’s good to _you,_ in particular—he _loves_ you!”

“How can a _human_ be good?!”

“You’re coming across a bit bigoted, Castiel.”

“Yeah, well the humans started it. And you can’t be racist to humans, anyway, Rachel—haven’t I told you how discrimination works—”

“I said bigoted, not racist, Castiel. Maybe _I_ should have taught _you_ how to listen.”

“If I’m prejudiced, it’s with good reason. Their kind have oppressed ours for _centuries—”_

“Times have changed. Significantly.” Rachel replies, firmly.

“Yes, enough so that I married one of them, apparently.” Castiel’s lip curls in disgust. It feels like a betrayal—to himself, to the rest of the angels, _ever,_ to—

“You love him.”

“How can I love someone I don’t even remember?”

“You don’t realise you love him, fine.” Rachel concedes. “But you do.”

“Apparently a disgusting amount can change in nine years.” Castiel’s jaw clenches.

“Castiel, give him a chance—”

“Why the fuck _should_ I?!” Castiel raises his voice. He doesn’t realise his eyes have glazed over with tears. Rachel’s expression softens. She reaches out to squeeze his hand, again.

“He’s not what you think he is. He’s not what you think humans are.” She says, gently. “I know that you don’t trust them—I know that you think you have every right not to—and yes, everything considered, I guess you sort of do—but please. Give him a chance. Speak to him.”

Castiel looks down. His sister is painfully good at persuading him to undergo things he’d genuinely rather not have to do. He nods and swallows, painfully.

“Fine.” He says. His voice has gone flat, emotionless. It causes his sister to break out into a beam, anyway.

“Thank you so much, Castiel.” She pulls him in for a hug, again. Castiel feels agonisingly tempted to remind her of the sensitive physical state he is currently in, but he abstains from doing so. He enjoys his sister’s hugs more than he would care to admit. It’s been nine years since he can remember getting his last one. “And I promise, you think he’s perfect. Seriously. You think he’s absolutely perfect.”

Somehow Castiel doubts that.

But Dean enters, anyway, somewhat timidly, when summoned by Rachel. She gives Castiel a look that says something along the lines of _I’ll leave you two alone—_ that, and: _Be good,_ and closes the door to Castiel’s hospital room, behind her.

“Hiya, Cas.” The human starts, cautiously, rubbing the back of his neck as he speaks. Castiel feels himself frown, on instinct. The human’s demeanour trembles somewhat when he catches Castiel’s expression, but he continues to speak, anyway. “Is it okay if I sit down?” He asks, gesturing to the chair placed beside Castiel—the one he had been previously sitting on. Castiel shrugs and looks away, and Dean seems to take this as a cue to sit, in any case.

“Are you feeling alright?” He asks, somewhat shyly. Castiel looks back to him and gives him the filthiest look he can muster.

He doesn’t know why he’s being such a dick.

“Alright, stupid question.” Dean surrenders, rubbing the back of his neck, again. There is a stabbing silence, for a moment. Castiel stares pointedly at his lap.

“Do _you_ have any questions?” Dean asks, after a good minute of painful quiet. Castiel looks back up. “That might be a better place to start.”

“Yes,” Castiel finds himself saying. His voice is oddly almost as cautious as Dean’s. “A lot.” He admits.

“Do you want to ask any of them?” Dean asks. Something tells Castiel that this isn’t a sarcastic question.

“—I—” Castiel starts. “Yes.” He nods. He pauses for a moment. For balance. For composure. “Why?” He asks, finally, glancing back up at Dean’s face. The human looks confused, more than anything else.

“Why did I marry you?” He clarifies. The human looks down, broken.

“I guess—” He starts, his voice somewhat pained. “I guess because you loved me.”

“And why did I love you?” Castiel asks, frowning.

“—I don’t know.” He trembles, stammers. Castiel feels his heart soften. He doesn’t know why. There is a silence, a long one, and for a moment Castiel thinks that Dean is never going to answer properly; and the angel breaths to ask another question, but in that second, Dean begins speaking, again. “—I know that you think you hate me, right now—and all ‘cause I’m a human—and believe me, there was a long time when you _did—_ but trust me, Cas, you mean everything to me—and once upon a time, I meant the same to you.”

Castiel has looked down, again.

“You really can’t remember _anything_ about me?” The human asks, his voice cracking with emotion. Castiel looks back up. He looks at the human he has learned is called Dean. Part of him still cannot believe he married one of these creatures. Part of him, regarding Dean now, sort of _can_. _Really_ can.

Dean’s eyes are wringing out tears like a wet cloth. They’re green—Dean’s eyes, that is—almost impossibly so. And warm. In a world where Castiel has become accustomed to so much cold, so much emptiness—save for his sister—the man he can apparently call husband has eyes as soft as the sun.

“No,” Castiel shakes his head. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologise.” Dean sits back slightly, as he speaks, and for some reason, the action is of great hurt for Castiel. “It’s not your fault. None of this is your fault.”

“Whose fault _is_ it?” Castiel asks. Dean looks down. Bites his lip. Guilty.

“They don’t know.” He shakes his head. “They found you on some street—half alive—like this.” Dean gestures to Castiel. “They’re trying to find the CCTV files that will indicate what happened—but apparently it’s not a priority.” Dean snorts, bitterly. “You’ve been out for a while.”

“For how long?” Castiel asks.

“Almost a week.” Dean is still staring at his hands. “There were moments—moments when we thought you were coming to, but then it seemed like you were in too much pain; and the doctors had to up your painkillers—which, of course, made you go under, again.”

Castiel recalls the voices. The buzzing. The pain.

“Yes,” He nods, “I think I remember that.”

“Really?” Dean asks, looking up. Something not unlike hope flickers behind his eyes.

“Yes,” Castiel confirms, again. He glances down to Dean’s hands. To his own. “I think I remember you holding my hand. A lot.”

Dean blushes. Castiel finds it oddly endearing.

“Right…” Dean’s ears are tinged with pink. “Well, I guess I _was_ —I thought you’d want me to—‘cause you were my husband— _are_ my husband—but—”

Castiel slides his hand closer to Dean’s. Brushes his knuckles against the human’s. The action sends a stabbing pain along his forearm, but it stops Dean’s—admittedly rather charming—babbling. Dean looks up.

“How did we meet?” Castiel asks, quietly. A smile, however shy, twitches across Dean’s lips.

“It was in college.” He starts. His voice is still quiet, but it’s warm—warmer than it has been for most of their conversation, so far—as warm as it was when Dean first greeted Castiel in this hospital bed; before he found out that Castiel could remember nothing of him. It rumbles with soft gravel, stirring something in Castiel’s heart. He wants, desperately, to slip his hand into Dean’s, right now. He refrains, at any rate.

“You were this really huge social activist, at the time.” Dean reminisces. “Always talking about the oppression of your people, always saying you were gonna change things.”

“I’m no longer a social activist?” Castiel frowns. The cold, mistrusting hardness that he feels towards humanity slips back into his heart, and he pulls his hand away from where it has been resting, next to Dean’s.

“You wrote a book, Cas.” Dean laughs, softly. “Several, in fact. But one _really_ successful one. You had talks. Rallies. You have a _huge_ following. You changed a lot of bad shit out there—and yeah, you still stand for all of it. Even if a lot has changed.”

Castiel wonders just how much.

“Our college wasn’t segregated?” He asks, frowning slightly.

“It was one of the first integrated ones out there.” Dean smiles. “And the first in the US. You being you, you _had_ to go there, just to check it out.”

Castiel frowns at this obvious gamble with fate, on his part.

“Me being me, I was lucky to get in.” Dean states. He is still smiling. Castiel wonders why, after this clearly self-deprecating joke on his part.

“But how did we _meet?”_ He asks, almost impatiently. Dean glances back up at him.

“Right, sorry.” He shakes his head, as though snapping out of a daze. “You were roomed with some guy that I knew, vaguely. Ezekiel?” Dean says the name as though it’s a question, as though he hopes the sound of it may trigger some kind of memory in Castiel, cause him to remember something, anything. Castiel shakes his head at the unfamiliarity of it, and Dean looks downcast.

“Anyway,” He sighs, slightly dejectedly, “You were rooming with this angel who I was on the college football team with. The two of us became buddies—me and Ezekiel, that is—and one time, he invited me round to his dorm, to play video games. And you were there rolling your eyes at the whole thing—and not really talking to me, ‘cause I was a human—but I had fallen head over heels in love with you. Like, irreparably so.”

Castiel’s lips find themselves twitching upwards, at this.

Dean continues; “But you really didn’t like me. I mean, _really_ didn’t. I was kind of confused, ‘cause you’d gone to a mixed college, I thought you couldn’t mind humans _that much,_ but you really did. And you were convinced I was a racist. And _I_ was convinced that you were the most perfect thing in the universe.

“So I tried to impress you with a bunch of social justice stuff that I’d picked up off my brother, Sammy—‘cause he’s always been totally well versed in _all_ of it—and I threw really long words into conversations that you were a part of, even if I wasn’t really a part of them—I tried so hard to impress you.” Dean laughs. “Words like ‘Institutional racism’ and ‘micro-prejudices’ were slipping off my tongue like crazy, but I think you could totally tell what I was doing, and I don’t think you were that impressed with any of it.

“Anyway, one time when I was trying to come off super smart and educated, I caught your lips twitching upwards into a smile. It was really reluctant, and probably more exasperated than anything else, but it made me feel a million dollars.” Dean laughs, looking down. He’s playing with his hands, fumbling with them, and once again, Castiel feels the urge to reach across and slip one of his own into Dean’s, tangling their fingers in the process.

“And then what?” Castiel asks. Dean glances back up at him. Castiel presses his lips together at the warm green gaze, the freckles scattered across the human’s nose and his cheeks, at the faded lines of smiles set around his eyes. Dean must smile with his whole face, Castiel thinks, absently, and he must smile regularly, too.

“Oh, right,” Dean nods, as though he’s snapping out of something. “Well, one day, I think you’d had enough of watching me stumble over my own two feet when it came to critiquing society, ‘cause you offered to take me on a civil rights march. And all I could hear was _‘Date-night-date-night-date-night’_ which was totally _not_ what it was going to be, but I got to spend a huge chunk of time with you—I spent half of it just nervously talking your ear off about _nothing—_ you probably thought I was this little kid in the body of a college freshman, but anyway. You put up with me. You taught me a load of stuff on the prejudices angels have to deal with. You corrected me on a load of my mistakes.

“And by the end of the day, I was so fucking lost to you, Cas, you have no idea. I just wanted to curl up in your arms and waste away the hours, with you. But you weren’t giving away _any_ signs of feeling the same, which was kind of a bummer, but then you said something like how I wasn’t like the other humans you’d met, and my mind went into overdrive. And I think I managed to babble out a thank you, and not much else.” Dean smiles nostalgically, running a hand through his hair. Castiel doesn’t want to think about how much he wishes he could do the same, run his fingers through the human’s soft sandy-brown tufts of hair.

“But how did we actually get to this point?” Castiel asks, attempting to gesture between the two of them, which is incredibly difficult, all things considered, but Dean seems to understand anyway, because he answers;

“Well, that’s kind of a long story. But it was at some guy’s party—I can’t remember what the occasion was, to be honest—but I was completely smashed, being a freshman and a bit of a lightweight, at that point.” Dean chuckles. Castiel’s lips twitch upwards. “And I stumbled out, to the yard outside the building, and you were there.” Dean grins. “And I couldn’t believe my luck, and I staggered over to you, and you were pretty drunk, too—but not as bad as me, I don’t think—and you invited me to sit down, and  in my head that translated as you admitting your undying love for me, so of course, I sat down, grinning like a fucking idiot.”

Castiel laughs.

“And then you just started talking about more of your social justice stuff, and I was like, _‘crap, maybe he_ doesn’t _like you’—_ but then you brushed your hand against mine, and slid your fingers between mine—and looking back, I was such an idiot for getting so excited about it, but holding hands was like, _everything_ to me. And I don’t mean that in some awkward way—like, I’d done stuff with people before—but touching you, in the most innocent of ways, meant _so_ much. Anyway, a few days later I came over to your dorm to waste my time pissing about with Ezekiel as per, and he wasn’t around, but you were. And you told me I could stay, if I wanted, and of course I wanted. I’d brought along some booze—which you had been totally surprised about, ‘cause I’d been underage at the time—like, you had _no idea_ how I’d managed to get hold of it, but yeah. Then we drank together—and I can’t remember how, exactly, but we ended up outside, again. And then, in some super drunk fit of recklessness, we kissed—but we didn’t think much of it. Well,” Dean corrects himself. _“You_ probably didn’t think much of it. Inside, my heart was soaring. But we didn’t do it again. We just spent the rest of the night laughing, together, which was really nice, all things considered, so I didn’t complain.

“And the next day I came around again, and you were acting really awkward. And I felt like an idiot—like you regretted what we’d done, like you resented me for it—”

“We only kissed.” Castiel frowns. “Why would I resent you for it?”

“I tend to overthink things, Cas.” Dean laughs, honestly, another self-deprecating smile spreading across his face. “It grows more and more obvious the more time people spend with me. Anyway—I felt like an idiot, and left pretty soon afterwards—and I was kicking myself out on the corridor outside your room when you stormed out, saw me and came pacing up to me, this determined look scrawled across your face.”

“And then what?” Castiel asks. Dean laughs again and runs a hand through his hair, his face growing pink. Castiel takes this opportunity to absently note that his freckles also stretch across his forearms, too. He wonders, slightly less absently, what other parts of Dean’s body are dappled with these freckles—and if he has always found them so endearing.

“And then,” Dean’s ears are notably pink, although he is grinning bashfully. “You kissed me. Full on. No alcohol involved, no other intoxicants, just you and me. I was really fucking embarrassed—but happy—to say the least, and then you asked me if I ever wanted to get coffee, and I said I definitely did—but probably _way_ more dorkily than that, and we started dating. You graduated at the end of the next year, but we carried on dating through the entire course of that time, and onwards.”

“It sounds very simple.” Castiel observes quietly.

“It wasn’t.” Dean laughs. “I have a habit of overcomplicating things.”

“ _And_ overthinking them?”

“Both.” Dean shrugs.

“And how did we end up married?” Castiel asks, glancing down to Dean’s wedding ring, again.

“That’s an even longer story.” Dean laughs. “I’ll probably have to tell it another time—you probably need food, or rest, or maybe even both. Can I get you a drink of something?” He asks.

“I’m fine, thank you.” Castiel shakes his head. Dean nods and gets up.

“Well, I think I’ll get something for myself, anyway—if that’s alright.”

Castiel frowns and nods, wondering why Dean feels the need to check with him, before leaving. Just as Dean reaches the door, Castiel speaks again.

“Dean?” He calls over. Dean’s pace falters slightly.

“Yeah, Cas?” He asks, turning around, slightly.

“How long have we been married?”

“We’re heading for two years.” Dean says. His tone is oddly bittersweet. Castiel nods and turns his head, slightly. For whatever reason, it’s painful for him to have to look at Dean, right now. He hears the human exit and finally feels as though he is able to breathe, again.

 


	3. "Home"

 

Dean visits every day. Every day, Castiel learns more about the human. About why it is he fell in love with Dean, in the first place. He thinks he can feel his heart tugging the rest of his reluctant body, begging to be closer to Dean, but Castiel cannot bring himself to oblige. He wonders how long it took him to accept his feelings for Dean, when they first met. If Castiel was always this hesitant.

More often than not, Castiel will wake to find Dean waiting beside him. He isn’t sure how many days it is since first waking up that he is introduced to Dean’s brother, Sam. Or how many days it is when he is introduced to Dean’s adoptive parents.

Sam is much the way Dean described. He had initially been very concerned for Castiel and his health; upon first visiting, but now seems to have eased up a bit—much like the rest of the loved ones who have visited the angel; whether Castiel can remember them, or not. Sam has similar features to the human Castiel married. The same eyes—soft and constantly concerned. Burdened. Castiel wonders why it is that the two of them look as though they have lost so much.

He can tell how close Dean is with his brother. He can see it in the way Dean interacts with him, how it is Dean speaks of him. The look on Dean’s face when describing Samuel is enough to make something bright and burning with want coil in Castiel heart.

What Castiel _does_ know is that the doctors say that his wounds have healed sufficiently for him to go, around two weeks after his waking. They say he has been very lucky. Castiel doesn’t doubt it.

All that I left is discovering _why exactly_ Castiel was ever found in this condition. And he desperately wants to know—he feels wronged; as though someone has stolen something precious beyond words from him. He wants to know what kind of enemy—whether it _is_ an enemy, or not—it must be who would want to deprive someone of years of their life. He wonders what kind of terrible thing it was he must have done to cause them to wish to do such a thing.

Not for the first time, Castiel wonders what he has become over the years he cannot recall.

He is standing in the waiting room, ready to exit, when it happens. A doctor has taken Dean aside—into some unoccupied room, out of earshot and away from prying eyes—to speak with him, privately. It has left Castiel alone. Solitude wears at Castiel more than he can remember it ever doing so in the past. He feels lost, constantly, when there are no nurses or doctors to guide him—particularly when deprived of _Dean’s_ company. As time begins to wane on, the angel grows worried. Concerned. He glances over to the corridor he knows Dean and the doctor disappeared down. He makes his way over to it.

In his defence, he does feel _some_ prickle of guilt before he peers quietly around into the room Dean and the doctor have vanished into. The guilt, however, is quickly replaced with confusion when he sees that there is also a human police officer present, with whom Dean seems to be growing increasingly frustrated.

“The nature of your husband’s attack—”

“Was a _hate crime.”_ Dean spits at the other human. Castiel recants his earlier observation. Perhaps frustrated had been something of an understatement.

 _“We can’t call it that.”_ The officer grits his teeth, as though he is torn between returning the anger Dean seems to be feeling toward him, and being swallowed up by his own discomfort due to the situation.

“Why the fuck not?!” Dean shouts—Castiel frowns, noting that the doctor beside him seems to be feeling just as livid as Dean is.

“Do you not realise what that kind of behaviour that language would incite?!” The officer shouts back. “We’d have riots on our hands! Race-riots! After _all_ the unrest of the past few years—”

 _“My husband was nearly_ killed _because of a hate crime directed at him_ purely _because he’s an angel!”_ Dean bellows. Castiel worries at his lip. _“Riots would be fucking called for, if you ask me! Someone’s committed a_ crime—”

“He’s very publicly spoken out about angel rights on countless occasions—he was only putting himself at risk—”

Something inside of Dean visibly snaps.

“And you’re wondering _why_ he spoke out about his fucking rights?! Fucking _look!”_

“Mr Winchester, I’m going to have to ask you to remain calm—”

 _“My husband can’t even remember who I am, anymore!”_ Dean shouts, his voice tearing in his throat with emotion. _“He’s stood in that waiting room, not loving me, anymore, with no idea who he is, who_ I _am—why it is he fell in love with a_ human— _and you’re telling me you can’t publicise this as what it fucking_ is?!”

“Do you have any idea the kind of political unrest we’d have on our hands if—”

The doctor has had to restrain Dean. Apparently, he was seconds away from throwing himself at the officer—and despite the fact that the doctor is holding Dean back, he is glaring at the officer in a way that would appear more than unwelcoming. That said, this expression is nothing, when compared to Dean’s own livid features.

Castiel takes a step back from the door as Dean flings it open.

“Cas—” Dean’s face falls, lines with worry. The anger behind his eyes is quickly replaced with the sadness Castiel has had to stare into for the past two weeks. “—I—”

The area around Dean’s eyes is red and swollen. The doctor appears behind him.

“I’d suggest you take your husband home, now, Mr Winchester.” He says, firmly, although gently. Dean takes a shuddering breath and nods. Castiel thinks he feels himself trembling the entire way out of the hospital.

He is in this state, because of a human. He doesn’t know how he feels about this—it’s hardly surprising, and he knows he cannot remain angry at _Dean_ for it; but part of him wishes to stay just so. He doesn’t know how he _should_ feel about it.

He closes his eyes and pretends to be asleep for the entirety of the journey to where he and Dean apparently live. Together.

Everything feels painfully alien to Castiel.

It feels even more so when Dean opens the front door.

“Welcome home,” He smiles, the expression as fake and broken as Castiel’s is, in return. “I guess I should show you around, huh?” He laughs, nervously.

“I guess.” Castiel shrugs, staring at the floor.

Dean presses his lips together as his smile grows more pained, if that could be possible, more forced, and leads Castiel through to what is apparently their living room. Castiel drinks in the sight. He can see bookshelves lining two of the walls—filled with not only books but also CDs, cassettes, DVDs, and photographs. Photographs he is sure hold pictures of himself and Dean. Of their lives together.

Dean’s fingertips stretch out for a moment, as though he is contemplating reaching out just a little bit further and taking Castiel’s hand in his own, but apparently he thinks better of it; because he balls his fist by his side and pulls his hand back from where it had been leading him, his face red. Something about the motion—or, rather, the withdrawal of it—has Castiel’s heart sinking steadily, surely, into his stomach. He looks down once again. His head feels far too heavy to allow him to look up, once more.

“And this,” Dean says, sounding horribly uncomfortable—Castiel cannot imagine how it must feel to have to show your husband around the home in which the two of you have lived for several years. “Is the dining room.” He has led Castiel back onto the corridor and through another door. He spots a piano in the corner of the room.

“I still play?” He thinks he feels the beginnings of a smile stretching at his lips, despite himself. Dean glances over to him, and the expression in his eyes changes, somewhat.

“Yeah,” Dean nods softly. “You do.”

“Do you?” Castiel asks. Dean lets out a gentle snort.

“You’ve tried to teach me,” He explains. “But I suck a lot. I’m nowhere near as good as you.”

Castiel nods again. Looks down. Nothing more is said.

The room is well furnished, nice—Castiel thinks absently that he and Dean must be fairly well off—but is given no more time to ponder this, because Dean is leading him through to the kitchen.

“On Saturdays, we always make homemade pizza together.” Dean states, a smile curling at his lips, but it quickly grows pained. “Used to.” He corrects, looking down. Castiel’s heart pangs.

He is shown around the rest of the downstairs, although there is little else to see. Then Dean leads him up the stairs of his home— _their_ home, Castiel corrects himself—and he stifles a yawn into his hand. Perhaps it is growing late. Dean seems to notice, because he bites his lip and shows Castiel the bedrooms next, of which they have three, excluding the one they apparently share. And now, Dean turns to Castiel, worrying at his lip.

“So, you’re looking pretty tired—would you like to head to bed, now?”

Castiel only nods in response.

“Would you rather sleep in a spare bedroom? Or share our normal one?”

Castiel’s face reddens. He finds himself apologising.

“I’m sorry—I think I’d rather sleep in a spare bedroom.” He says. Dean nods in understanding, but his face betrays the upset this confession has caused him.

“Okay, you can sleep in the room next to the one I’ll be sleeping in—just ‘cause it’ll be easier to hear, if you need anything—just call out, if you do, okay?”

“Okay.” Castiel nods. Dean opens the door to Castiel’s new room and switches on the light. Castiel doesn’t look back at Dean as he enters.

“I’ll bring you some pyjamas.” Dean says. Castiel thanks him.

He looks about him, now. The room is much like many of the others in this home—pleasantly furnished. Warm. Castiel thinks of how he and Dean must have picked out the furniture, together. He thinks of how it must ache at Dean’s soul that Castiel can’t remember.

Dean enters again, handing Castiel his nightclothes, and Castiel thanks him, ducking his head. Dean nods, pulls another one of his more than slightly unconvincing and incredibly pained smiles; and exits. Castiel changes and slides into the bed. The sheets feel cool against his skin. He hears Dean treading softly down the stairs, pottering in the kitchen for a few hours. Castiel is unable to find sleep.

A while later, Dean returns up the stairs. He treads softly, as though he expects Castiel to already have found sleep—Castiel wonders if he is normally able to find rest without any trouble. It’s odd, knowing so little about himself. Realising how much one can change in only nine years.

Dean treads about his bedroom for a short while, before, Castiel supposes, climbing into bed. What is apparently _their_ bed.

And then he hears Dean’s quiet broken sobs leaking through the walls of their home. Castiel turns on his side and mirrors them, silently, although he is entirely unsure why.


	4. First Memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I remembered something, today.” Castiel states. Dean blinks. His expression changes. Something like hope flickers across his features.
> 
> “Really?” Dean asks. Yes, it’s definitely hope. “What?”
> 
> “The protest that I took you on.” Castiel explains. “Just part of it. I was looking through a scrapbook of all my rallies, and it was in there. And I remembered you saying you’d never been on one before. And that you were really happy to be there.”
> 
> Dean beams.
> 
> “You remember that?” He asks, his voice cracking, slightly.
> 
> “Yes,” Castiel nods. “And I remember thinking of how horribly frustrating it was that I found you so cute.”
> 
> “You thought I was cute?” Dean asks, his voice raking against his throat.
> 
> “Adorable.” Castiel laughs. Dean reddens furiously, the bashful grin still slipping across his features, and glances down to Castiel’s hand, still tracing Dean’s. Dean tangles their fingertips and squeezes gently.

Castiel spends each of his nights in the spare bedroom. He falls asleep to the same soft sound of Dean’s tears; and it’s killing him, slowly, inside. He doesn’t think Dean realises how thin the walls of this home are.

Dean keeps on trying to find ways to trigger Castiel’s memory; to get him to remember something, _anything_ about him—about their life, together. But it’s to no avail—nothing returns to Castiel—not of his time spent in the nine years that have gone missing neither from his mind, nor from his marriage and relationship with Dean. Dean is a total stranger to Castiel. And Castiel is apparently the love of Dean’s life.

The two of them eat their meals together—in general, in silence. Their dinner is punctuated only by the occasional comment from Dean, the question of how Castiel’s day was, if everything was alright, if he had remembered anything. Castiel can barely ever reply in sentences longer than a few words. He knows he is killing Dean, causing him emotional agony. And that knowledge is destroying Castiel.

Dean goes out to work during the day. Castiel is left alone—Dean has given him a list of numbers to call, should something go wrong; a map of the town in which they live, to allow Castiel to occupy himself outside, and a list of things he could fill his time with, indoors. Castiel knows that Dean is doing his best. But he is going insane with mindless boredom.

Dean is an architect. He loves what he does. He has a passion for it. Castiel is unable to carry out his normal work, because of his condition. He wonders if this will last forever. He prays to the heavens that it won’t.

One day, Castiel finds his book on the shelf. It feels strangely surreal to be able to hold what is apparently his own work, his own words and thoughts poured in between a hardback cover, in the palm of his hand.

He continues to search the house for evidence of his own social activism. He finds, in what used to be his and Dean’s shared bedroom, a scrapbook filled with newspaper cuttings; each of them written about the marches that Castiel has apparently been on—and has, he notes, something like pride swelling inside of him, even been a speaker at.

He finds a page on a protest for angel rights attended mainly by students. He feels entirely unsure as to why _this_ is an article he should have wanted to keep—it could hardly have been counted as significant; and only as a moderate success—but then, his eyes scanning the lines of information and faces in the photograph, he discovers the piece’s importance.

This was the protest he took Dean on, when they were students.

His eyes have fallen upon two faces in the photograph of the crowd. It’s himself and Dean.

Dean looks younger. He looks less miserable. He looks alive with possibility, and Castiel notes, his heart swelling slightly, with the fact that he is stood with Castiel.

And Castiel feels himself frown as he observes just how oblivious he looks to Dean’s affection. Something like shame burns in his heart. He is unsure why.

But, looking at the crowd, he can almost hear the protesters. Can almost taste the sense of anger and injustice in the air. Can see the rest of his fellow students’ passionate, heated faces. Can sense the electricity bubbling through the crowd. And then, Castiel realises, he actually _can._

There is a crowd in front of him.

_All around him. He breathes deeply. The scent of discontent is in the air. He has grown to love this smell—it has grown, to Castiel, to become a sign that things are close to change. He has been to enough demonstrations to know, now. He has signed enough petitions to know. Has called out enough racists on their bullshit. Things are changing._

_A few years ago, Castiel never would have dreamed that he would be attending one of these events with a human. He never would have imagined that he’d feel so happy, when in the company of one of them. And yet, with Dean, he is._

_Dean isn’t like other humans._

_This, Castiel has realised, is the only explanation he can offer that can allow him to live with his growing affections, without loathing himself entirely._

_Dean looks an odd combination between elated and terrified, right now—and Castiel decides that he knows the feeling, and has to remind himself to look away from the human; to remind himself of their differences, of Dean’s privileges, of the fact that for Castiel to feel_ anything _for a human would be to disgrace himself._

_Looking at the human sends something warm swelling through Castiel’s heart._

_He tries to tell himself that he only invited the human because has Dean shown a particular interest in angels’ rights—but that isn’t true. Or, not entirely. He wanted to be with Dean. That’s the honest truth. But Castiel_ can’t _come to terms with this truth, because it hurts his heart and prompts him of the fact that Castiel may or may not be falling, hard; for a dorky, blushing, freckled human, who wears his father’s old jackets and talks about cars, and, on occasion—in an attempt to impress the angel he has a childish crush on—throws long words that Castiel can tell he doesn’t really understand, into conversation._

_But God help him, Castiel is falling hard._

_And Castiel knows of Dean’s affections for him. Dean doesn’t exactly make it subtle, anyway. He’s endearingly bashful._

_No. Castiel reprimands himself. Dean is enamoured and easily embarrassed and possesses some horribly pretty features—of both the physical nature, and in his peculiar idiosyncrasies—but Dean is nothing more than a human teen with likings towards an angel who, unfortunately for him, doesn’t return those emotions. He doesn’t. He doesn’t._

_He doesn’t just have a crush on Dean._ Fuck _, it’s so much worse than that._

 _And Dean has no idea. Nobody does. Which is why it’s so important for Castiel to keep this façade up. Castiel feels nothing but distrust toward humans. He went to the first integrated college in America for the sole fact that it was the first integrated college in America—it was the_ idea _of the thing; what it_ represented _to Castiel—nothing else._

_Not because he want to befriend a bunch of humans. Or even just one._

_And it_ certainly _wasn’t because he wanted to grow feelings for a human, to spend more glorious, calm time with him, to fall—_

_Castiel glances at Dean. Dean is staring around him with an awestruck expression. It’s not at all charming. It’s really not. Castiel kicks himself._

_“You’ve never been to a protest, before?” Castiel asks. Dean looks back to him, seemingly elated that he is able to speak to Castiel—it’s not cute; it’s really not—but a shy yet simultaneously warm grin is fixed across Dean’s features, and it’s making it impossible for Castiel to convince himself that he feels nothing towards the human._

_“Yeah—I mean, no.” Dean shakes his head. “This is my first one.”_

_“How are you liking it?” Castiel asks, raising his voice to be heard over the chants of the crowd._

_“What?” Dean frowns, leaning forward. Castiel repeats his question, even louder. Dean’s grin broadens, even more._

_“I’m loving it.” He laughs. “Thank you so much for inviting me here. It means a lot.”_

_Castiel knows that it means a lot to Dean. He’s scared that it means even_ more _to him._

_He tells Dean that it wasn’t a problem, anyway. Dean’s eyes crinkle at their corners. Castiel wants to cup Dean’s jaw in his hands, to run the tips of his thumbs across Dean’s cheeks, to press soft kisses onto the bridge of Dean’s nose and on both of his eyelids. He resists the urge. It feels rather a lot like hammering a nail through his core and into the ground beneath him._

_But he resists._

Castiel is back in the bedroom. The scrapbook is resting heavy in his hands. He breathes deeply. It’s the first memory of the past nine years that has returned to him. And it’s of Dean.

He doesn’t know why, but he wants Dean here, now. He feels trembling butterflies fluttering inside his gut. The sensation is new; yet familiar. It’s undeniably familiar. Castiel’s hands are quaking.

Does Dean know that Castiel felt so much for him, even at that protest? He recalls the way Dean told the story of how the two of them ended up dating. It really didn’t seem like it. He wants Dean here, now.

He sits back onto the bed. The sheets smell new, but again, familiar. He breathes them in deeply. Perhaps this is the scent of Dean. If it is, he likes it. He feels his heart break a little at the thought of how many tears Dean has shed at night, over the past few days. He wonders if Dean cried every night that Castiel was in hospital, too, wishing that he was able to have the angel beside his body, in the bed. He thinks of how cold and withdrawn he has been with Dean. Of how unfair on the human all of this has been. Of how it was judgemental and perhaps even cruel of Castiel to be so frosty with him, for so long—particularly when Dean’s love and concern for Castiel was made so clear, for so long.

Castiel sighs softly. He wonders when Dean will be coming home. His fingers run along the spine of the scrapbook. He thinks of how proud Dean sounded when he stated that Castiel was still involved in his activism, when he mentioned Castiel’s book, his speeches, his rallies. Dean is honestly frustratingly perfect; and the memory of him that Castiel has just experienced only _really_ further proves that. He reprimands himself for being so unkind to Dean, over the past few days. So blunt in his answers to all Dean’s questions. So quiet and unfriendly.

Because honestly, over the past few days, something warm and bright has started to uncurl inside of Castiel’s chest. And he knows it’s because of Dean. Even if he _really_ hasn’t wanted to admit it.

He hears the front door close from downstairs. Dean is home. Castiel sits up on the bed, slightly. Feels himself smile.

“Cas?” Dean calls. Castiel wonders, not for the first time, where this particular nickname came from. When it was Dean started referring to him as anything other than just Castiel. “Are you home?” Castiel hears Dean drop his bag on the floor of the kitchen and open some of the cupboards, probably searching for a snack. “Cas?” Dean repeats. His voice rings with concern, now.

“I’m upstairs.” Castiel calls down. He gets up off the bed and makes his way onto the landing. “Here.” He looks over the bannisters. Dean peers out of the kitchen and up at him, something like relief lacing his features.

“Hey,” Dean smiles. It’s the pained smile; the one that is an attempt at hiding how much Dean is hurting, inside—Dean is a pretty poor actor, Castiel has noted—he has seen an agonisingly large number of these smiles over the past few days. “How was your day?” Dean asks, as Castiel makes his way down the stairs of the home. He is scarcely able to stop the smug beam spreading across his features, and catches Dean frowning questioningly at it. “Are you alright?” Dean asks, his face lining with concern.

“I’m fine,” Castiel states. The smile is still impossibly difficult to contain. He can’t wait to see how pleased Dean will be to see it, how happy he will be to know that Castiel can remember something of him, something of their time together. He brushes his fingertips against Dean’s hand. The touch seems to send sparks jolting through Dean’s body, because he jumps almost violently as soon as Castiel makes contact with him. It’s the first time they’ve touched, properly, since Castiel was in the hospital. He looks up into Dean’s eyes. The human’s expression is inscrutable. It looks like his mind has gone a little blank. And that he’s finding it painfully difficult to breathe. The look on the human’s face sends something warm and delicate dancing along Castiel’s insides.

“I remembered something, today.” Castiel states. Dean blinks. His expression changes. Something like hope flickers across his features.

“Really?” Dean asks. Yes, it’s definitely hope. “What?”

“The protest that I took you on.” Castiel explains. “Just part of it. I was looking through a scrapbook of all my rallies, and it was in there. And I remembered you saying you’d never been on one before. And that you were really happy to be there.”

Dean beams.

“You remember that?” He asks, his voice cracking, slightly.

“Yes,” Castiel nods. “And I remember thinking of how horribly frustrating it was that I found you so cute.”

“You thought I was cute?” Dean asks, his voice raking against his throat.

“Adorable.” Castiel laughs. Dean reddens furiously, the bashful grin still slipping across his features, and glances down to Castiel’s hand, still tracing Dean’s. Dean tangles their fingertips and squeezes gently.

“We’ve got whole boxes filled with photographs.” Dean states. “Maybe looking through them would help trigger something else.”

“Maybe.” Castiel nods. The warm something in his heart is thrumming happily at the joy written across Dean’s features. He’s finding it more and more easy to understand why it was he fell in love with the human in the first place.

Dean fetches the boxes for him. They are filled with scrapbooks and photo albums. Dean makes dinner while Castiel flips through them on the bed. He comes upstairs around an hour later, the hope still burnt across his features.

“Any luck, yet?” He asks. Castiel shakes his head. Dean’s face falls.

“I’m looking at pictures of you as a child.” Castiel explains. Dean frowns.

“Why?” He asks.

“Because I was curious as to what you liked like when you were young.”

“Oh.” Dean says. “Why?”

“I wanted to.” Castiel shrugs. He looks down at a smiling Dean, no older than three, sat grinning on his mother’s lap. “This is your mother?” He asks, pointing to the picture. Dean makes his way over to Castiel’s side and glances down at the photograph.

“Yeah.” Dean nods. His voice is quiet.

“She looks a lot like you.” Castiel observes, softly. He hears Dean sigh next to him. There is a pause. “You said she died when you were a child?” He asks.

“And my dad.” Dean says. “Both of them. Bobby and Ellen adopted me and my brother.”

“Sam.” Castiel recalls.

“Yeah.” Dean nods again.

“My parents died when I was very young, too.” Castiel says.

“I know, Cas,” Dean reminds, gently. His hand grazes Castiel’s shoulder. “I’m your husband.”

“Right. Sorry.” Castiel looks down. Dean’s hand is still on his shoulder. He wonders if Dean is aware of the fact that he is still touching Castiel. He wonders if soft touches in Castiel’s direction are a matter of habit, to Dean, now. They’ve been married several years, after all. He likes the touch, in any case.

Another silence.

“You were very sweet, as a child.” Castiel observes. He hears Dean snort a laugh, next to him.

“Not any more, then?” Dean asks, chuckling.

“Still very sweet.” Castiel’s lips twitch upwards as he turns, looking up at Dean. Dean blushes and smiles. Castiel is reminded of the desire he had in the memory to cup Dean’s jaw in his hand and lace kisses across the human’s face.

“Dinner’s ready.” Dean states, quietly. His hand slips down to Castiel’s arm. “You can carry on looking through the photos, later, if you want.”

“I’d like that.” Castiel nods. “I’d like to do that, with you.” He adds. “Would you stay with me?”

Dean’s expression softens. His eyes glaze over.

“Of course, Cas.” He nods. He holds his hand out to Castiel. Castiel takes it.

 


	5. Hot Showers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content of this chapter is as follows:
> 
> Blindfolding, explicit sex scene (and, once again, featuring a more explicit D/S relationship than simply D/S undertones), aftercare, cuddling.
> 
> If you want to avoid this, the scene starts around a quarter of the way in to the chapter, and lasts just over a further two quarters. Otherwise, enjoy, and thank you to all those who have left comments on the past few chapters.

 

Dean and Castiel sit on the bed for hours, after dinner, filtering through the photographs. Somehow, the two of them end up sitting close enough together that their sides are not only brushing, but that Dean’s arm ends up around Castiel’s shoulder. Castiel decides quickly that he likes the touch. A smile laces at lips. He glances at Dean to see him beaming. The warmth in his heart glows a little brighter.

“This is me and Sammy playing baseball.” Dean says, grinning. His head slips onto Castiel’s shoulder. The two of them haven’t even made it into the photographs capturing their time together in college, let alone any married life, together. But Castiel is fine with this. He likes this time. He likes that the smiles set on Dean’s lips are real, now. No longer pained and forced and heartbroken.

Dean is so good to him. Constantly. Maybe Castiel is falling in love with Dean again. Probably. Definitely.

“The two of you are close?” Castiel asks.

“Very close.” Dean smiles gently. His head nestles a little further onto Castiel’s shoulder. “We’re always looking out for each other. Always will.”

“That’s very touching.” Castiel hums.

“It’s a lot like you and your sister.” Dean’s lips twitch a little further upwards as he glances up at Castiel. “You always looked after her.”

“I had to. We were brought up together in a children’s home—but I swore as soon as I had enough money—”

“—You’d buy a place for her to be able to live, comfortably.” Dean finishes Castiel’s sentence for him. “You always used to tell me.” He smiles, his voice rumbling with warmth.

The warmth inside of Castiel flowers a little more.

“Do you have any work you need to do, tonight?” He asks.

“A little.” Dean shrugs.

“You can do it, if you’d like. I’ll carry on looking through these photographs.”

“Are you sure that’d be okay?” Dean asks, raising his eyebrows. Castiel shrugs.

“It’d be fine.”

Dean thanks Castiel and pulls himself from the angel’s body. Castiel doesn’t like how bare he feels, now that Dean isn’t beside him.

He returns to filtering through the photographs for a while, before growing tired. He feels himself yawn and stretches out, on the bed. He likes how it smells. He pulls the covers over his body. Curls up underneath them. Feels his eyes sliding closed. Castiel doesn’t even realise it when he falls asleep.

He wakes when Dean makes his way back up the stairs. The human opens the door to the bedroom as seems somewhat taken aback. Castiel stirs from where he lies, surrounded by several of the photograph albums.

“Cas?” Comes Dean’s cautious, wary voice, surprised that Castiel is still in the room—and, what is more, is sleeping there. Castiel groans into the pillow. “Do you want to sleep in the spare bedroom tonight? Or in here, instead?”

“I want to stay here.” Castiel mumbles into the bed.

“Oh,” Dean says, still sounding thoroughly unsure of himself. “And do you want _me_ to sleep in the spare bedroom?”

“No.” Castiel frowns. “Why would I want that?”

Dean makes an awkward noise in the back of his throat. Castiel has no idea what it’s meant to mean.

“I want you to stay here.” He says, sleepily, shifting his wing off half of the bed to make room for Dean’s body beside him. “With me.” He adds, in case Dean didn’t understand completely. Dean goes silent, for a moment.

“Are you sure you want that?” He asks, warily.

Castiel confirms, groggily. He stretches his arm out across the vacant space of the bed, a silent invitation. Dean seems to take it, because he slides into the bed, at last—although not after clearing away the albums of photographs surrounding Castiel. He lies a cautious, stifling distance away from the angel, as though he is afraid of overcrowding him, of scaring him away. Castiel reaches out across the empty space between them, again, and finds Dean’s hand. He entwines their fingers, softly. Dean looks like he has just seen the birth of a planet.

“I wanted to thank you,” Castiel stifles another yawn as he speaks, “for being so good to me. I understand that this must be pretty awful for you, but you’re always making sure _I_ feel okay—and it means a lot. Thank you very much, Dean.”

“I’m your husband.” Dean replies, simply, but his lips twitch upwards into a quietly contented smile. “Of course I’m gonna look out for you.”

“I’m not surprised I married you.” Castiel mumbles, smiling sleepily. “I’m not surprised I fell in love with you.”

Castiel doesn’t hear Dean’s reply, if the human gives one. He’s asleep by the time this last confession has finished slipping from his lips.

 

…

 

_Castiel presses kisses down Dean’s pretty neck, pushes him back against the door. He feels the human groan beneath his mouth and tilt his head back, obediently, to allow the angel more access to his skin. Castiel makes an approving noise as he sucks a bruise onto the stretch of Dean’s flesh. Dean tenses beneath him, his fingers knotting into Castiel’s t-shirt, but he doesn’t complain. Doesn’t move._

_“So good.” Castiel hums, running the tip of his tongue over the spot. Dean whimpers beneath him._

_“I’ve missed you.” Dean croaks, his voice rough and heavy with want. “I always miss you when you’re gone.”_

_“I wish I could visit more.” Castiel presses his forehead against Dean’s, slipping his hands under Dean’s shirt. His thumbs brush softly against Dean’s hipbones. Dean takes a stuttering breath and closes his eyes._

_“I wish you could, too.” He replies, his voice faltering as Castiel’s hands wander up his chest._

_“Are you going to let me take your shirt of?” Castiel asks, his voice low and quiet. Dean moans from where he is pinned back, against the wall._

_“Yes.” He nods, closing his eyes, again._

_“Do you want me to?” Castiel asks, kissing softly at Dean’s pink, swollen lips for a moment. Dean’s body trembles against his._

_“Yes.” Dean nods again. “Please.” He adds, opening his pretty green eyes._

_Castiel hums in approval, slipping up Dean’s t-shirt._

_“Such a good boy.” He coos, gently. Dean groans from beneath him. Lifts up his arms, obediently, for Castiel to remove his clothing, to reveal his lovely, freckled chest. Castiel smiles at the sight. Peppers kisses onto Dean’s collar bones. It sets Dean’s body into shuddering, all over again._

_“When’s your roommate back?” Castiel asks, glancing up at Dean. Dean takes a few shaking breaths, before being able to reply. Castiel waits, patiently, stroking at Dean’s sides._

_“Not for another few hours.” Dean breathes. “He’s got—ah—” Dean moans as Castiel rubs his hand against the tightness of Dean’s jeans. “—Some kind of swimming practice. I can’t remember.” Dean finishes. Castiel nods, thoughtfully._

_“Are you telling me the truth?” He asks, raising his eyebrows at Dean._

_“Yeah.” Dean nods, his tone bridging on the defensive. Castiel lets out a disapproving sound and squeezes Dean’s sides._

_“Remember what happened last time?” He asks, his tone strict. A mortified blush creeps across Dean cheeks._

_“Yes.” He nods, his ears growing pink. “But I’m sure, this time.”_

_“Then I suppose we’ll have enough time. I’ll put a sock on the doorknob, just in case.” Castiel muses, softly. He glances back up at Dean. At his chest rising and falling, a flush creeping across it. His lips twitch upwards. He brushes his lips against Dean’s, so soft that the touch almost isn’t there, for a few moments, before muttering a husky, firm; “Stay here.”_

_Dean nods obediently._

_Castiel rummages in Dean’s cupboard. Finds what he’s looking for. The smile tugs at the corners of his mouth again. He turns back to Dean, the tie in his hand clearly visible. Dean groans at the sight._

_“You want me to use this?” He asks, gently. Dean’s face is a furious red. He nods. “How do you want me to use it?” He asks, softly, making his way toward Dean. He brushes his hand tenderly across Dean’s cheek. Dean closes his eyes and leans in to the touch. Castiel doesn’t reprimand him. He likes needy. He likes needy on Dean, in particular. “You want me to blindfold you?” Castiel asks, covering Dean’s eyes with the tie, for a moment. Dean moans in approval. He reconsiders. “But then I can’t see those pretty green eyes of yours.” He frowns, pulling the tie back. Dean is still trembling._

_“Or, perhaps,” Castiel continues, “I could slip this between your pretty, sinful lips.” Dean groans and parts his mouth submissively as Castiel slides the tie over his lips and into his mouth. Castiel has to stop himself from shuddering in desire with the way that Dean’s eyes remain trained on his. Intent, fearful, excited, compliant, eager. “But then I can’t kiss you,” Castiel hums in mock sadness, removing the makeshift gag from Dean’s mouth. Dean whines at the gesture. “Or wreck that pretty little mouth of yours with my cock.”_

_Dean shudders again._

_“I could tie your hands up,” Castiel continues, hands stroking down Dean’s wrists, held out, tamely, to him. “But I think you might like that, a little too much.” Castiel smirks. Dean is nearly crying. The angel brushes his thumbs over Dean’s cheeks, comfortingly, for a moment. “I want to make you work for it, first.” Castiel’s lips graze against Dean’s ear. The human quivers beneath him like a leaf in a storm._

_“I think I know what I’m going to make you do.” Castiel nods, thoughtfully. He kisses Dean’s lips for another gentle moment, before tying the tie over Dean’s eyes, blindfolding him. Dean’s hands find Castiel’s sides, hungry for some kind of reassurance, which Castiel is all too glad to give. He presses his face into Dean’s neck and laces more kisses over his soft skin, feeling Dean’s groan rumble low in his throat. He takes Dean by both his hands and leads him gently over to his bed, pressing his thumbs onto Dean’s palms._

_“Do you trust me?” Castiel asks, gently. Dean moans and nods, his breathing uneven, and Castiel brushes his thumb across Dean’s bottom lip, before slipping it into the humans perfect little mouth, left obediently, welcomingly, open for him._

_Dean sucks on it for a few moments, causing something warm and smug to curl in Castiel’s heart, before the angel pulls it out of Dean’s mouth as he undoes his jeans. Castiel palms himself for a few moments, his eyes flickering closed, before pulling out his cock and stroking himself for several seconds. And then he guides Dean’s head down, his mouth over Castiel, taking the angel deep inside his throat. He feels Dean groan around him, and the sensation is almost as gorgeous as the sight of those pretty pink lips wrapped so sinfully around his dick._

_“Suck, Dean.” Castiel instructs, stroking Dean’s cheek gently. Dean groans again and obeys, his teeth grazing Castiel, tonguing at the underside of Castiel’s shaft. Castiel’s hand wanders into Dean’s hair, petting at it, as he bites his lip, struggling to contain himself at the sight of Dean, blindfolded, so eagerly sucking at Castiel’s cock. “Such a good boy,” He coos, gently—Dean moans at the applause—Castiel knows all too well how much the human loves being praised, being told he is doing well; and Castiel loves nothing more than to oblige this particular kink of Dean’s. “Taking me down so well. So good. So eager.”_

_Dean groans again, nothing but happy and undone by his own arousal, and Castiel pulls himself out of Dean’s mouth. The gorgeously obscene sound this makes is almost as devastatingly beautiful to Castiel as the sight of Dean, whimpering and trembling in want of Castiel’s dick, back inside his mouth, dribble and precome running down his chin._

_“Please, Castiel.” He whines, the sound a little heartbreaking, and Castiel is fairly certain he sees the damp patches of tears forming through the blindfold. He coos gently again, petting at Dean’s face._

_“You’ve made such a mess, pet.” He hums, wiping the dribble off Dean’s chin._

_“Sorry.” Dean slurs. Castiel bends down and grazes his nose against Dean’s. “Please—” Dean trembles._

_“It’s okay, Dean.” Castiel hums, tenderly. “You took me so well. Felt so good.”_

_Dean’s hands fumble blindly for Castiel, and Castiel cups Dean’s face in his hand before removing the tie from over Dean’s eyes for a few moments to kiss over Dean’s delicate eyelids._

_“You want me to fill you up, Dean?” Castiel asks, quiet and sensitive. Dean takes a shuddering breath and nods._

_“Please.”_

_Castiel puts the blindfold back over Dean’s eyes and guides him to lie back on the bed, pulling down the last of Dean’s clothing when the human is completely settled. He spreads apart Dean’s legs, so that he is kneeling inbetween them, and leans over to Dean’s bedside table to grab the lube._

_Dean is trembling with some kind of desperate anticipation, and Castiel coats his fingers before ghosting the pad of his index finger, gently, over Dean’s perfect little hole. The human jerks, almost violently, beneath Castiel, and Castiel holds Dean’s hips down with one hand, a grounding, firm touch, as he presses his first finger inside Dean’s white heat._

_Dean lets out a broken little moan, and Castiel pets his side comfortingly._

_“You remember what I said, Dean?” He asks over Dean’s whimpering._

_“—No—” Dean shakes his head, gasping softly._

_“About what to say if you wanted to stop?” Castiel reminds, gently._

_“—Oh—yes.” Dean nods._

_“And remember how I told you I’d stop straight away?”_

_Dean nods again._

_“Are you going to tell me if it gets too much?” Castiel squeezes at Dean’s side. Dean presses down desperately on Castiel’s finger and fumbles, trying to find the angel’s hand. Castiel slides his hand up to Dean’s gently and squeezes Dean’s fingers._

_“Yes.” Dean nods._

_“I won’t be angry.” Castiel reminds._

_“I know.” Dean nods, his voice quaking._

_“You’re always so good for me, Dean. I could never be angry.”_

_Dean lets out a quivering moan._

_“Never disappointed.” Castiel continues, squeezing Dean’s hand again as he presses a second finger inside of Dean and stretches, firmly. “Always so proud of you. So impressed by how much you can take.”_

_“Cas,” Dean whines, the sound ruined and heartbreaking._

_“I’m right here, Dean.” Castiel reminds. He bends down and brings Dean’s hand up to his mouth to press a kiss onto the flat of Dean’s palm, to reassure Dean, to comfort him. “So perfect.” He praises, stretching Dean out with three fingers, now._

_Dean is whimpering softly. Castiel presses a fourth finger inside of the human, stretching Dean out, watching as he wriggles down on the fingers, apparently desperate for more._

_“You think you’re ready now, Dean?” Castiel asks. Dean nods._

_“Please.” He slurs. Castiel pulls his fingers out of Dean, earning him another broken little sound from the human’s parted lips, before tearing open a condom packet and slipping it over his cock. He coats himself in lube, before tugging at Dean’s hand, sitting him up, and swinging his own legs over the side of the bed._

_“You’re going to sit on my cock, now, Dean.” Castiel instructs, gently. Dean nods as Castiel guides him down, Dean pressing his face, hard, into the curve of Castiel’s neck as the angel presses inside of him._

_“Feels good?” Castiel asks, gently. Dean nods. Castiel thumbs at the tears slipping under the blindfold._

_“So good.” Dean breathes hoarsely. Castiel’s lips twitch upwards. He guides Dean into moving, slowly, up and down._

_“You look so pretty like this, love. So beautiful.”_

_Dean shudders. Draws another broken breath._

_“Kiss me?” Dean pleads softly. It would kill Castiel to say no._

_He obliges Dean, his fingers wandering gently through the human’s hair, his touch adoring. Dean moans against Castiel’s lips, soft tears still slipping down his cheeks, eyes hidden under their crude blindfold. Castiel runs his thumb over the soft material of the tie, before slipping his fingers back into Dean’s mouth. Dean sucks at them, unquestioningly, as Castiel hums his praise to the human._

_“Being so good for me.” He applauds. Dean moans again. “Such a good boy.” Castiel purrs, nosing at Dean’s nose._

_Dean’s hands make their way into Castiel’s wings—the angel closes his eyes happily at the touch and sighs softly. He doesn’t normally let people touch his wings. Dean is something of an exception. He always has been._

_“Can I come, Cas?” Dean asks, meekly. Castiel opens his eyes and runs his hand affectionately up Dean’s side._

_“Of course, Dean.” He nods, petting at Dean’s flank. “You’ve been so good, today. You deserve to.”_

_He squeezes at Dean’s hip, a signal that he wants Dean to repeat, to agree, and Dean whimpers again. The human has always had trouble admitting when he deserves something, when he merits applause. Castiel is trying desperately to change that._

_“Say it.” He chides, gently. Dean mewls as Castiel’s hand grazes Dean’s cock._

_“I deserve to—” Dean’s voice breaks off with a devastated moan. Castiel feels the human clench, hot at tight, around him, and watches as Dean comes, such a pretty sight, on Castiel._

_“Say it.” Castiel says again, petting Dean’s hair as he continues to come, his other hand stroking at the length of Dean._

_“I deserve to come—” Dean moans, ruined, broken, exhausted. He groans and presses his face into Castiel’s neck, his fingers running inbetween the feathers of Castiel’s wings. “—I deserve it. I deserve this.”_

_“Yes,” The angel nods, pleased. “You do.”_

_Dean mewls brokenly._

_Castiel purrs more applause onto Dean’s skin as he lets himself go, squeezing at Dean’s sides, eyes fluttering closed, coming inside the perfect heat of the human. The angel moans for a moment, his brain stuttering to a halt, his breath catching in his throat._

_“So good.” He kisses up Dean’s neck, teeth grazing the human’s skin. “Such a good boy. So proud of you.”_

_Dean trembles, more tears slipping down from under the blindfold as Castiel kisses at Dean’s freckled nose._

_“I was good?” Dean asks, his voice wrecked and heartbreakingly quiet._

_“So good.” Castiel repeats. “Love you so much. So proud of you. Felt so good.”_

_“I felt good, too.” Dean replies, the ghost of a smile tracing at his lips._

_“So glad.” Castiel beams, pressing a kiss onto Dean’s cheek as he removes the blindfold, the tie slipping off Dean’s face to reveal those pretty green eyes, perfect and watery. As soon as he has done so, Dean presses his face into the side of Castiel’s neck._

_“Sorry for being so needy.” Dean mumbles the apology against Castiel’s skin. The angel squeezes Dean’s body against his own, comfortingly._

_“You don’t need to apologise, Dean. I like needy.” He reminds. Dean sighs happily against Castiel. “_ Love _needy.” Castiel corrects himself, warmth curling around his heart.  "Love needy on you." Dean moans again against the angel’s skin. Castiel guides him down, onto the bed, pulling out of Dean. Dean lets out a broken little sound at this, upsetting for Castiel to hear, and he cards his fingers tenderly through Dean’s hair._

_“It’s okay.” Castiel reminds. “I’m still here. I’m not going anywhere.”_

_He picks up a towel from where it is hung, on the back of a chair, and wipes up the mess on Dean’s chest, before running his lips over Dean’s freckled shoulders._

_“So pretty.” He chuckles softly. Dean blushes. Castiel laces kisses over Dean’s body, cooing more applause. He feels Dean’s frame coming untied at the touch of his lips and hands._

_“Missed you.” Dean sighs as Castiel noses under his jaw. He won’t stop fussing over Dean’s body until he has finished adoring every inch of it._

_“I missed you, too.” Castiel replies, tenderly, gazing intently into Dean’s warm, soft eyes._

_“When will you be able to visit, again?” Dean asks. Castiel sighs and bites his lip._

_“I’m not sure.” He replies, honestly. “I’m sorry. I’ll try to make it down next weekend.”_

_“Don’t stress about it.” Dean hums, shifting slightly under Castiel’s body. “And don’t do anything that would be difficult timing-wise. I don’t want to cause an inconvenience.”_

_“You could never be an inconvenience, Dean.” Castiel hums, pressing a kiss to the corners of each of Dean’s eyes. Dean sighs and closes them again, a contented smile pulling at his lips as Castiel moves to pepper kisses over the human's eyelids. “I love seeing you more than anything.”_

_“How long will you be here for?” Dean asks, lifting his gaze back up to Castiel, again._

_“The whole weekend, if you’d like me to.” Castiel smiles. Dean sighs happily and closes his eyes again._

_“That’d be nice.” He nods. Castiel strokes up Dean’s torso, softly. Kisses at his delicate nose._

_“Then I’ll stay.” Castiel takes Dean’s hand in his own and squeezes gently. The gesture sets a beam spreading across Dean’s flushed features before Castiel has even finished it._

_“So happy, when I’m with you.” Dean mumbles. Castiel chuckles and noses at the underside of Dean’s jaw._

_“I’m so glad.” He replies. “I’m happy, when I’m with you.”_

_The angel settles by Dean’s side. Pulls Dean into his arms. Shifts his wings to cover both of them—but Dean in particular. The shy, happy smile returns to Dean’s lips. Castiel has never known why, but Dean loves it when Castiel wraps his wings around their bodies. He always has. And Castiel, ever willing to oblige Dean on his wants and needs, is all too happy to accommodate Dean on this one, in particular—especially when looking at the wonderful smile the gesture laces at Dean’s lips._

_“I love you.” Castiel smiles. Dean sighs happily. The blush returns to his cheeks._

_“I love you, too.” He replies._

 

…

 

Castiel wakes up to the dull pulse of his own arousal. It throbs at his body, numbly, constantly, and he feels his face heat, furiously.

The dream—was it a dream? Was it real? Another of Castiel’s memories?—Either way, it has set something hungry and burning simmering thickly inside Castiel’s system, coursing through his blood, prickling his skin. He opens his eyes to see Dean, still asleep, his pretty, thick brown eyelashes fluttering slightly. Their hands are entwined, peeking out from under the covers, but aside from that, their bodies aren’t touching. That said, Dean—or perhaps Castiel—has edged considerably closer, during the night. Maybe both of them did.

Castiel resists the urge to count the freckles scattered across Dean’s nose. Something about the human is making Castiel’s gut twist sharply. He wonders just how much deeper it was that he fell in love with Dean, when he first watched him while he slept.

Castiel glances down. It would be mortifying if Dean woke up and saw Castiel in this state—even more so if Castiel were to explain _why_ he has found himself in such a condition—and so he resolves to extract himself from Dean’s arms and take care of himself, in their bathroom. Doing this, however, proves rather difficult; and Castiel reprimands himself for not being able to foresee this. Removing himself from the warmth of the bed and Dean’s body is bad enough, but having to do it without rousing Dean? It’s agonisingly impossible.

The angel untangles his fingers from Dean’s profound grip on his hand, which causes the human to stir, but fortunately, nothing else. Castiel slides out of the bed as quietly as possible, watching as Dean’s fingers curl into the sheets in front of him, now that Castiel’s hand has gone from its place. He opens the bathroom door gently, wincing at the sound it makes as it creaks open, praying that the noise won’t rouse Dean. It doesn’t, at any rate—apparently Dean is a heavy sleeper—and Castiel frowns questioningly at the warm glow that this thought sets simmering deep in his gut.

He locks the door behind him once it’s closed. If Dean wakes, now, it won’t matter—Castiel can just tell him that he wanted a shower—and the human won’t see the embarrassing evidence of the angel’s arousal, now. Castiel moves to undress himself—perhaps a shower _would_ be the best option—but then he begins to question whether he should have a cold shower; flushing the desire out of his system—or a hot one—one that would, of course, end up with Castiel pleasuring himself. Would this be a bad thing? He _is_ married to Dean, after all; even if he can’t recall ever being so—and the two of them were clearly once _very_ intimate, and more than comfortable doing this sort of thing with one another, pleasuring eachother—but then, Castiel may well end up feeling guilty after thinking of Dean as he—

He sighs at himself. He needs to stop overthinking. Dean will almost certainly be awake, soon, and Castiel would rather not have to answer too many questions.

He turns the shower on. He keeps the water hot.


	6. First Meetings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this update came so late. The rest should be coming pretty much on time.

 

Castiel continues looking through the photographs that Dean has given him as evidence for their relationship, together. After none of the first dozen that Castiel pores over trigger any sort of recollection, the angel’s hope is beginning to wane thin—that is, until he turns over once particular photograph of an uninhabited dorm room. It’s small; and seems barely inhabitable—but something about the room stirs something deep inside of Castiel’s mind. He recalls.

He looks at the bed closest to the camera. Recalls the many hours he spent lying on his front on it, absorbed in his studies. Examines the bed further away. Recalls a presence—who did Dean say Castiel shared a dorm with?

A face floats to the surface of Castiel’s mind.

He scans the photograph again. The two beanbags in front of the tiny television—except the television isn’t in the shot of the camera—and Castiel has recalled that by himself—what else?

Video games.

What does that mean? Castiel squints at the photo. But the words continue to drift towards him from the image. Video games. Then Castiel remembers.

 

 

_Castiel glances up at the clock on the wall of his and Ezekiel’s dorm room. Then back down at his book. He doesn’t have anywhere to be going—not for a long while, anyway—but the solitude is growing slightly lonely. He wonders where his roommate has got off to. When it is he will be back._

_Ezekiel is friends with humans. Lots of them. He tells Castiel that he should do the same, that it’s ridiculous that he’s in the third year of college, and still avoided them—but honestly, Castiel is slightly afraid to befriend them. Throughout the entirety of his life, humans have been cold and cruel towards Castiel—and angels, in general. The feelings he holds towards humans are and odd combination of resentment and fear—he has heard about the hate crimes that take place, every day—and although Castiel lives nowhere near the more extreme parts of the country, it’s not exactly like he isn’t at risk._

_But somehow, his roommate, a fellow angel, has no issue with speaking to the people who are responsible for the oppression of their race. Experience has taught Castiel to be wary of humanity. Of the hatred they can harbour._

_Castiel highlights an important sentence. Annotates it._

_He has heard that the humans here are friendly towards angels—well, they’d have to be, going to a college that was opened as the first integrated college of the states. But part of Castiel suspects that those who_ are _friendly are only so for the novelty of being able to state that they have “an angel friend”. Oh, how very inclusive of them. How very modern._

_The door is swung open. Castiel looks up. It’s Ezekiel._

_“Hi—” He greets, from where he lies on his bed, but his sentence is cut short when he sees who it is who follows his roommate into their dorm._

_“Hi, Castiel.” Ezekiel nods, apparently not finding the need to explain what the_ fuck _it is he’s doing. He makes his way over to the tiny television and switches it on, tossing a controller over to the human behind him. “This is Dean.” He gestures to the human, who is staring at Castiel, apparently transfixed. Castiel glares at him. “Do you want to sit down?” Exekiel gestures to the beanbags he and Castiel had bought, cheap, for the room. Dean seems to snap out of his daze and nods, making his way clumsily over to his seat._

 _Castiel returns to his book, his jaw clenched. He can’t_ believe _Ezekiel thought it wise to invite one of the humans back to their room. After a few minutes, he glances up to see the human staring at him, mouth agape. Castiel glares again, and the human looks down quickly, his face red. What’s this guy’s problem? What’s his problem with Castiel?!_

Right, _Castiel reminds himself,_ he’s a human, you’re an angel. _That’s_ his problem.

 _But that answer doesn’t_ really _make sense, now that Castiel mulls it over in his mind. The human is apparently ‘friends’ with Ezekiel. Who is also an angel. So why the fuck is he staring at Castiel, in particular?_

 _Castiel looks up again. The human is glancing at Castiel; attempting to remain subtle, and failing awfully; his face still a scorched red. It’s almost as amusing as it is endearing._ No. _Not endearing._

 _“Dean, I thought you said you were good!” Ezekiel exclaims, laughing. “I’m thrashing you! You suck_ so badly!”

_Castiel snorts, despite himself. If Dean’s face was any redder, it’d be completely ablaze._

_“I_ am _good, normally.” The human mumbles. “Today must just be an off day, for me.” He looks down. “Maybe you’re just really good, too.”_

_Ezekiel glances at Dean._

_“Are you sure you’re even concentrating? What’s got you so distracted?”_

_Dean shrinks a little further into his seat, as though he wants the ground to swallow him whole._

_“I guess it’s just one of those days.” He shrugs._

_“Whatever, we can just chill for a bit, if you’d prefer.”_

_“That sounds better.” Dean nods, something like relief flooding his features._

_Castiel rolls his eyes again. He returns to his book._

_He is torn away from his page when a pillow is thrown at his head._

_“Hey!” He exclaims. “What the fuck was that for?!”_

_“Dean just asked a question, feather-brain.” Ezekiel deadpans. Castiel resists the urge to scowl at him and instead turns to Dean, who is still apparently finding it an impossible task not to exist and blush furiously in the process._

_“Sorry—” Dean stammers. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your reading—”_

_“Well, you have, now.” Castiel sighs. Dean’s face crumples with embarrassment. “What were you going to ask?”_

_“I just—Ezekiel said you were a social activist—”_

_“That’s right.” Castiel’s jaw clenches. He’s probably going to get a lecture from the human about how the days of racism are over and done with; and he_ really _doesn’t want to have to—_

_“I just wanted to ask if you’ve ever been on any protests? ‘Cause my brother, Sammy—he’s super passionate over civil rights stuff—he’s always bugging me to take him to marches and stuff—and I just—” Dean doesn’t seem to know how to end this sentence. He shrivels a little further into his seat. Castiel regards him for a moment, squinting slightly—this human is rather unlike any of the others Castiel has ever met—and, judging by his furiously red cheeks, finds it difficult to feel anything other than embarrassed, when speaking._

_“I have, yes.” Castiel nods. Dean is fumbling furiously with his hands. “You have a brother?” He asks. Dean looks up, apparently delighted that Castiel has seemingly taken an interest in his life._

_“Yeah, he’s four years younger than me.” Dean nods. “He’s super smart.”_

_“I’m sure.” Castiel nods absently, ready to return to his book—but Dean speaks again. Castiel sighs and looks up._

_“Have you got any brothers or sisters?”_

_“One younger sister.” Castiel states._

_“What’s her name?”_

_Dean is frustratingly persistent._

_“Rachel.” Castiel says. “She’s seventeen.”_

_Dean hums and nods. Castiel lets out an internal sigh of relief. Apparently the human can think of nothing else to speak about._

_Dean returns to his conversation with Ezekiel—it’s of entirely inconsequential things; and normally Castiel would find it frustratingly mundane, but for whatever reason, he actually sort of wishes he were able to involve himself, again._

_He examines Dean, now. The human with a passion for—what, exactly? His brother is the one stated to have a love for sociology, not Dean. So why was Dean so apparently intent on speaking about it, with Castiel?_

_Dean’s soft green eyes have turned away from Castiel. The angel notes the scattering of freckles across the human’s nose, dappling at his cheeks. He wonders absently how many Dean has. If they’re speckled across any other parts of his body.—Wait—was that a dirty thought about a human? Castiel kicks himself internally. Wrinkles his nose. Bites the inside of his mouth. Looks away._

_He glances up again, against his better judgement. Dean glances up at Castiel. Their eyes meet for only a moment, before Dean has blushed furiously, again, and is looking away. Castiel rolls his eyes. For whatever reason, however, he continues examining the human. Watching the way he’ll run a hand through his light brown hair, ruffling it only further; the way that he’ll fumble with his hands and blush if he gets especially nervous; the way that he’ll—_

_Castiel needs to stop._

_Dean is a human. A_ human. _And admittedly, he doesn’t seem like an especially bad one—but Castiel has been wrong before, and has no experience telling him that it’s possible to find nice humans; and his ogling of Dean is getting a little ridiculous._

 _But Castiel has_ heard _of humans who aren’t all that bad. He’s seen plenty of humans on his protests—so some of them clearly_ do _share some of his interests with the rights of his kind._

_“I’m going to get some air.” Castiel states, flatly, standing up and leaving his book open on his pillow._

_“Good for you.” Ezekiel mimics Castiel’s tone, which only makes Castiel scowl and throw the pillow that had earlier been aimed at him, back at his roommate. “Hey—!”_

_Dean snorts out a laugh, earning him a furious glare from both angels. And just like that, the blush on his cheeks has returned. Castiel takes this as an opportunity to close the door behind him._


	7. Saturday Pizza

Castiel pads down into the kitchen and pulls out a chair, after that. His heart is rabbiting away in his chest, although he is unsure why—is it because of the confirmation that Dean was telling him the truth when he explained to the angel the story of how they met?—or is it because Dean apparently has no idea of just how early it was that Castiel returned his attraction and affections?

Castiel sighs. He thinks of how perfect Dean has been with him. Constantly. He thinks of all that Rachel has said about the human—only ever good things—and, now that Castiel dwells on it more, he recalls how well Dean and his sister seem to get along; how close they seem to be. Castiel is ludicrously lucky.

And there’s something else—something warm and familiar that pulses deep inside his chest whenever he thinks of the human. His mind mulls over all of the recollections he has had so far—it wanders back; not quite so unintentionally, to the dream that he had of him and Dean. His stomach rolls, hotly.

He glances over the kitchen—on the walls are several photos; mostly of the two of them, some of Castiel and his sister, some of Dean and his brother. One is of Dean and Castiel, on the day they got married. Castiel has looked at it, countless times, wishing he could recall. He looks so unquestioningly happy, there. As though the entire world seems to have slipped into place. And Dean looks positively radiant with joy—not that the human isn’t beautiful, anyway—because if Castiel is honest; Dean is, in general, the most radiant person he has ever encountered—but in that photograph, Dean looks alive with bliss.

Castiel wonders if he’ll ever be able to see Dean in that state, again.

He pads over to the fridge and scans its insides, aimlessly. It’s not even that he’s hungry; it’s that he’s so mindlessly bored. He wishes Dean would come home. Wishes he would be able to tell Dean of all that he has just recalled. He closes the door with a slam and a sigh.

And then he has to rest his head on the closed refrigerator door; because something about this motion is _so familiar—_ agonisingly so—and he closes his eyes and breathes deeply; but something like recollection washes over him.

_“What do you want on your pizza?” Castiel calls from where he stands, scanning the contents of their fridge absently. He glances back to Dean, who is spreading out flour on the surface of their kitchen counter, ready to roll the dough out. He beams at the sight of Dean; in casual clothing, a baggy t-shirt over his softly muscled frame, patches of flour already covering his dark attire._

_Dean glances up and grins lopsidedly, the motion enough to make Castiel return the look tenfold, and before he can think Dean has made his way across the kitchen and is practically by the angel’s side._

_“Revenge…” Dean states, his tone mockingly dark and mysterious—Castiel frowns for a moment, before Dean’s flour covered hand is thrown into his hair; ruffling the raven strands and covering them with white powder._

_“Dean!” Castiel exclaims, attempting to frown indignantly, but failing miserably, because the sight of Dean in_ this _condition; laughing uncontrollably, is more than enough to extinguish any of his frustration._

_“That serves you right!” Dean nearly shouts with laughter, clapping his hands together, flour clouding up around him, as he almost doubles over with amusement. “Now you’ll know better then tossing it all over my clothes!”_

_“Dean, I’m_ covered _in flour—”_

 _“So am I!” Dean grins, almost breathless from hysterics. “—Consider us even, now—and anyway, Cas, your face is_ priceless! _I wish I had a camera! You look hilarious!”_

_“Shut up.” Castiel laughs, attempting to rough out the flour from his hair by running his hands vigorously through it, several times. Dean smirks and shakes his head._

_“It’s not gonna work, Castiel. You need a lot more elbow-grease to get flour ‘offa shit.”_

_Castiel rubs his hair on Dean’s shirt, earning him a bark of laughter and Dean batting him away._

_“Nope, you’re not wiping that off on me.”_

_“You’re a dick.”_

_“You were a dick, first.” Dean shrugs, drolly. Castiel rolls his eyes. “Besides,” Dean grins, clearly attempting to stop himself from snorting with amusement, as he winds his arms around the angel’s body, “white hair quite suits you. I’m digging the old man vibe I’m getting from you, Cas.”_

_“What, you mean a pervy vibe?” Castiel laughs, grazing his nose against Dean’s._

_“I was thinking more along the lines of silver fox.” Dean chuckles. Castiel can’t keep the amused smile from spreading wide across his features._

_“You’re fucking awful.” He chuckles. Dean grins smugly—Castiel has a feeling it’s simply because the human knows how very in love with him the angel is—and peppers kisses up Castiel’s neck. The angel lets out an appreciative hum, carding his fingers idly through Dean’s hair, but isn’t distracted_ that _easily. “Come on, answer my question.”_

_“What one?” Dean inquires, his voice muffled as his lips tickle at Castiel’s skin._

_“What do you want on your pizza?” Castiel repeats, the smile lacing his lips growing slightly hazy._

_“You.” Dean mumbles again. “Can I have you?”_

_Castiel pulls Dean up to kiss him._

_“You’re awful.” He repeats, chuckling adoringly._

_“You love me.” Dean beams. Castiel’s eyes crinkle at their corners._

_“So much.” He hums, grazing his nose against Dean’s._

_They spend that night eating pizza on the couch, Dean’s head in Castiel’s lap. Every now and then, Castiel will bend down and give Dean a bite of his pizza, making the human beam and nuzzle into Castiel’s leg—either that or return the favour, holding his own slice up to the angel._

_“We should do this every Saturday.” Dean states, his voice rough and lovely and sleepy. Castiel beams at the sound and grazes his fingers up Dean’s face, through his hair. Dean positively purrs at the touch, looking radiant with happiness as he closes his eyes to Castiel’s fingers. “Make it a tradition.” Dean’s voice is getting lost to hums of pleasure, and it’s like fire burning at coals in Castiel’s heart to listen to. He loves knowing how happy the human is in his company. He loves how happy_ he _is, in Dean’s company._

 _“We should.” Castiel agrees softly, stroking up Dean’s neck, now. Dean cranes his head to allow Castiel more room; as though the touch is provoking some intense need for_ more, _and Castiel, as always, obliges with the bright glow simmering deeply in his blood. He frames Dean’s jaw with his hands and bends down to catch the human’s lips against his own for a gentle, lulling moment. The kisses they share at moments such as these are always soft and sweet. He pulls back; watching as Dean basks in the warm glow of their kisses, then opens his eyes again. Castiel is afraid he is going to explode with love._

_“You’re everything.” Dean says, absently, his voice rough and raw in his throat._

_Castiel’s fingers brush softly through the human’s hair, again._

_“No,” He chuckles, bending down again to nose at Dean’s lovely face. “You are.”_

 

“I had another memory, today.” Castiel beams, as soon as Dean enters through the front door. He has been waiting beside it for what feels like hours, wanting to be able to inform Dean as soon as he arrived home. Dean breaks out into an unhesitant beam. “Well,” He corrects, “another _two.”_

“Really?” He asks. “What was it of?”

“The first one was of the first time we met.” Castiel explains. Dean starts laughing—Castiel isn’t quite sure why, and so forgets to finish his description. “What’s so funny about that?” He frowns.

“You probably think I’m super dorky, now.”

“No,” Castiel frowns defensively. Dean pulls an unconvinced face. “Alright, maybe a little.” The angel admits. Dean snorts. “But it was really rather endearing—”

“Seriously?” Dean raises his eyebrows. “I just spent the whole time _blushing_.”

“And it was very cute.” The frown is still fixed on Castiel’s face. Dean laughs again and brushes the backs of his fingers across Castiel’s cheeks; before thinking better of the touch and shifting away, suddenly. Castiel frowns in upset.

“What’s wrong?” Dean asks, face twisting with worry when he notices Castiel’s crestfallen expression.

Castiel’s hand tangles with Dean’s as the human attempts to move it back down to his side. He brings it back up to his cheek.

“Nothing, now.” Castiel shrugs. Dean’s cheeks tinge with the endearing red hue that creeps across them whenever Castiel thinks to touch the human affectionately—of which he has been doing an increasing amount, lately.

“You don’t need to do this ‘cause you’re scared I feel crap, Cas—”

“But I am.” Castiel says firmly. Dean glances up to Castiel’s eyes, something changing in his own. Castiel takes a moment to admire Dean’s brilliant jade irises, the way that something afraid and hopeful sparks behind them as Castiel squeezes Dean’s hand.

“And it should be reason enough that I want to make you feel better; that you’d do the same for me—but just in case it isn’t,” Castiel presses a kiss onto Dean’s knuckles, and the human jerks, almost violently, at the touch, “then rest assured that I _want_ to do this—and this,” Castiel presses a kiss to Dean’s forearm, and watches as the human’s pupils are blown wide with something like an odd mixture between surprise and lust, “because you’re the most wonderful person I’ve ever met. Human or not.”

Castiel is fairly certain Dean’s hand is starting to tremble.

“I—”

Castiel has never seen a blush so endearing.

“—Thank you—” The human stammers. “I’m really not—” He shakes his head, but Castiel won’t allow this, and he squeezes Dean’s hand again and presses four kisses to each of Dean’s knuckles. He feels the rough skin of Dean’s hand between each of his fingers; sliding them over each of Dean’s callouses and facets, fascinated.

“You work with your hands?” Castiel asks, looking up at Dean. “I thought you were an architect.” He frowns.

“I used to—” Dean is still blushing furiously at the physical contact. “—I used to work in a garage. Y’know, cars and shit. Just for extra money, ‘cause it was always tight, when I was a kid—but I loved it a lot, so I still work on cars on the weekend, just for fun.”

Castiel is riveted by how warm and soft Dean’s hands are, despite the charming flaws in them; the canyons forming in their rough lines and edges.

“You’re perfect.” He finds himself saying, his voice raw.

Dean’s blushing and stammering in response is almost _too_ charming.

“—I—”

Castiel presses a kiss to Dean’s palm. His mouth is tilting up at its corners.

“You still haven’t asked me about what my other memory was of.” He reminds.

“Oh—” Dean blushes, stammers yet again. “Right—what was it—what did you—”

“It was of us making pizza, together.” Castiel states. “The time we decided to turn it into a tradition, apparently.”

Dean’s red cheeks are caught up in what Castiel can only describe as the most wonderful smile he has seen, to date.

The human seems unsure of what to say; only able to beam at Castiel.

“So I thought we could do that again, tonight.” The angel explains, watching as a confused frown pinches at Dean’s features. “Make pizza, that is.” He adds.

“Cas, it’s a _Saturday_ pizza thing—”

“And we missed the last one.” The angel shrugs, squeezing Dean’s hand. “Last _few.”_ He corrects. Dean’s smile is growing more and more pleased. “So I thought we could make up for lost time. Make pizza together, tonight. Do you like the sound of that?” He asks. He watches as Dean glances to their hands, still tangled together, and feels as Dean’s fingers squeeze affectionately at his own.

“Yeah,” Dean says, quietly, the contented smile pulling at his lips, still. “That sounds perfect.”


	8. No Children

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Good morning,” The human hums. He presses a kiss to Castiel’s chest, which sends sparks searing through Castiel’s skin, his body jolting at the prickle of electricity the touch burns through him—but Dean’s lips falter, his body goes taught, uncomfortable, stiff with regret and realisation. “—Sorry—” Dean stammers, pulling himself back from Castiel’s arms. “—I forgot—”
> 
> Castiel frowns. His thumb slips under Dean’s shirt and skims along the ridge of his hip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Relatively sad chapter coming up. Sorry about that. The next one will be happier.   
> (Yeah, the title of this chapter is totally a reference to The Mountain Goats song to be completely honest.)

Castiel wakes up the next day with Dean’s face buried in his neck. He has no idea how this happened. He also has no idea why the touch brings him so much _joy._

Nevertheless, it certainly does, and glancing down at Dean now, Castiel has no questions about how exactly he wants to wake up for the rest of his life. Dean’s soft breath has the skin beneath his shirt prickling with contentment and simmering with the odd warmth that Castiel has felt himself growing for the human more and more over his time with Dean.

Absently, the angel cards his fingers through Dean’s soft hair; unsure of why the urge to do so was so very demanding. Dean stirs in his arms, sighing happily for a moment, but doing nothing more—Castiel is secretly rather glad that Dean doesn’t wake up; as he has a feeling that the part of him still prickling with distrust toward Dean would cause him to feel guilty, desperate to stop. As it is, this part of his soul is merely biting softly—in itself a perfectly ignorable motion for the time being—into his gut.

He exhales, gently. Watches the way his breath ruffles Dean’s hair. Watches the way Dean’s body rises and falls with each of his breaths. Feels as his own heart swells to the point that it is threatening to explode, to break out of his chest; all because of the sight of Dean, asleep in Castiel’s arms.

Castiel wonders just how much Dean loves him. A seemingly infinite amount. He thinks of how much love Dean’s heart seems to contain; for all of the people in his life—for Sam, for his deceased parents, for his adoptive parents, for his sister-in-law, for Castiel—Dean seems to have an endless amount of love to give. Castiel is struggling to understand just how a person could be so perfectly giving.

He wishes he could remember more of Dean. Remember their first date, the first time they slept together, their wedding, their quiet, important conversations held in the depths of night. Dean deserves for Castiel to be able to remember. Dean deserves to be able to stop feeling such unhappiness. Castiel squeezes Dean’s body. Closes his eyes. He feels Dean stir again. Feels the human’s fingers trace up the rope of his spine. Feels his other hand graze up the ladder of his ribcage. The angel can’t stop the moan that escapes his parted lips at Dean’s touch.

“Good morning,” The human hums. He presses a kiss to Castiel’s chest, which sends sparks searing through Castiel’s skin, his body jolting at the prickle of electricity the touch burns through him—but Dean’s lips falter, his body goes taught, uncomfortable, stiff with regret and realisation. “—Sorry—” Dean stammers, pulling himself back from Castiel’s arms. “—I forgot—”

Castiel frowns. His thumb slips under Dean’s shirt and skims along the ridge of his hip. Dean’s body jolts, once again, at the touch.

“Why are you sorry?” The angel frowns.

“—You—” Dean’s words sputter out of him, rather inelegantly. “—I didn’t think you’d want me to—” His face is that same shade of red, again; except this time Castiel doesn’t find it as endearing as he does find it upsetting. He presses a kiss to the line of Dean’s forehead, silencing the human quite effectively; earning him nothing more than a shuddered, soft gasp.

“I like waking up to you.” Castiel hums his content, pressing Dean’s face against his chest, again. Dean’s body seems to go lax against his own, once more. “Very much so.”

He feels the human take another shuddering sigh against his skin.

“I’m glad.” Dean says, quietly. “I was scared you wouldn’t, anymore.” He admits.

Castiel shakes his head and covers Dean’s body with his wings, just as he remembers Dean seemed to so adore, in his dream, the other night. Dean lets out some kind of trembled sound of pleasure, which makes Castiel beam and hum out his content against the top of Dean’s head.

“I wish I could remember more.” The angel admits, his voice quiet and gravelly and guilty. Dean exhales against him and glances up.

“It’s fine, Cas—”

“But—”

“It’s not your fault.” Dean shakes his head firmly. Castiel isn’t massively used to Dean being this direct. The human snorts a laugh against Castiel’s chest. “You always apologise for shit that can’t be helped; like everything’s your fault.” Dean chuckles. “You always have.”

“I’m glad to know I haven’t changed, much.” Castiel states.

“You really haven’t.” Dean’s lips twitch upwards. “Aside from the fact that you trust me, of course, when you never would’ve trusted a human before. Or, y’know, used to trust me.” His gaze flicks down, suddenly embarrassed.

“I still trust you.” Castiel frowns. Dean glances up. “Of course I do.” Castiel confirms, when Dean raises his eyebrows at Castiel, questioning his sincerity. “I’ve never trusted a human before, but I think I’d trust you with my life.”

“Really?” Dean asks, frowning slightly. “But you hardly know me.”

It’s odd how much hurt this statement causes Castiel. How defensive it makes him feel. How it rings both true and false in his mind.

“But I can tell,” Castiel shrugs, biting down on the urge to take offense, “that you’re more than trustworthy. That you’re kind and sincere and really quite perfect—”

“—For a human.” Dean’s lips curve upwards.

“For anyone.” Castiel corrects. His thumb glides across Dean’s cheek, skims under his jaw. Dean tilts his head up, at the touch. “I think _your_ flaw is that you can’t give yourself credit. You can’t seem to admit when you deserve something.”

Something about what Castiel has just said makes Dean’s face flush a deep red.

“What do you mean?” He stammers, his body tensing against Castiel’s again.

The angel shrugs nonchalantly.

“I don’t know. It’s just something I’ve observed.”

Dean nods, the lines on his face worried, his ears still tinged with the red hue, and shifts to sit up.

“I should get up.” He mumbles. “Work, today, and all.”

Castiel watches as Dean slides off the bed, looking down. He ponders what could have caused this sudden shift in Dean’s behaviour.

“Did I say something?” He asks. Dean glances over to him, worriedly, and shakes his head.

“No,” He states. “It’s just me. Just me being stupid. That’s all.”

Castiel wants to line kisses underneath Dean’s jaw.

“Will you want breakfast?” Dean asks.

Castiel shakes his head, and Dean nods once, stiffly, and exits.

Humans are impossibly odd, Castiel thinks to himself. Or, this one in particular, at least.

 

…

 

_Dean visits almost every day after that. He still spends an extraordinary amount of time gaping at Castiel—either that, or blushing furiously. Aside from this; he also throws words Castiel is almost certain Dean doesn’t fully comprehend the meaning of into conversation—words centred around issues of social justice—and for the life of him, Castiel cannot work out why it is Dean would want to do this._

_It’s exasperating, definitely; particularly when he hears Dean pronounce these words wrong—he’s_ so clearly _picked them up from a library book—and yet, for whatever reason, Castiel cannot help but be slightly touched in the knowledge that Dean is so enthusiastic over issues of equality and liberation._

_One day, after Dean has left subsequent to a mind-numbingly long period of playing video games with Ezekiel, whilst discussing Castiel-isn’t-quite-sure-what, Ezekiel turns to his roommate with an infuriatingly amused grin spread across his face._

_“What?” Castiel frowns, perplexed by the delight etched across his roommate’s features._

_“Dean.” Ezekiel says simply, as though this should be explanation enough. Castiel rolls his eyes in irritation._

_“What about him?” He asks._

_Ezekiel laughs._

_“You seriously don’t know?!” He grins, shaking his head._

_“Clearly,” Castiel frowns, “or else I wouldn’t be asking, would I?”_

_“Dean,” Ezekiel laughs, almost triumphantly. “Is so painfully and obviously in love with you.”_

_Castiel rolls his eyes and looks away._

_“No, seriously!” Ezekiel exclaims. “You don’t believe me?! How can you not?—Have you even_ seen _the way he acts around you?! The way he_ looks _at you?! He’s enamoured!”_

 _“He is_ not _!” Castiel finds himself raising his voice, for whatever reason, and sitting up on his bed._

 _“What about the way that he’s always trying to talk to you about angel rights?!” Ezekiel bursts out laughing, now. “He can barely_ pronounce _half the words he’s trying to say—he keeps on talking about it in front of you because he wants to impress you! Fucking hell, Castiel; how can you_ notsee _it?!”_

_Castiel’s face is on fire._

_“That’s not—”_

_“He’s trying_ so hard _to get your attention and your approval, and what’s funniest about all of this is that you have_ no idea!” _Ezekiel grins, clapping his hands in glee. “How could you be so oblivious—?!”_

_Ezekiel isn’t allowed to continue any further because Castiel has thrown a pillow at his head._

_It can’t be true. Except, now that Castiel thinks about it, it definitely is. He can’t fucking deny it. Dean’s behaviour—however frustratingly endearing—points almost certainly to him liking Castiel. More than liking him. And perhaps this explains all the human’s staring. All his odd quirks and clumsy idiosyncrasies, around Castiel._

_Dean_ likes _Castiel. And the angel has no idea of how to react. He’s never had a human have a crush on him before—at least, not that he knows of—and Ezekiel seems more than thoroughly convinced that Dean holds more feelings towards Castiel than simply a crush. Fuck. Castiel doesn’t know how to deal with this. He’s never been faced with this situation before._

_And what’s infinitely worse than all else about Castiel’s predicament is his answer when he asks himself if he returns Dean’s apparent affections for him._

Castiel stares down at the photograph of himself and Ezekiel, grinning broadly, looking ever so pleased with themselves. He mulls over the memory this photograph has roused. It has left something feeling numb and dull in his gut, unlike most of the others, and Castiel decides that it’s based on the pure desire to know more, to learn more, about himself and Dean.

He slips off the couch and opens the door leading into the garden. He sits on the grass and crosses his legs, looking out at the lawn and the trees surrounding it. He and Dean have, frankly, a rather needlessly large house in proportion to the number of residents—just himself and Dean. Castiel’s mind rolls over the number of bedrooms, the size of the building, its garden. It certainly _does_ seem a little excessive. He resolves to ask Dean about it when the human arrives home from work; but he already has a sinking feeling deep in his gut about the reasoning behind him and Dean owning quite such a large house.

“Hey, Cas.” Dean greets, when he arrives home. Castiel glances up at him, from where he is now sat, reading, on the couch. “Are you alright?”

“Did we ever have children?” Castiel asks, ignoring Dean’s question outright. Dean seems quite taken aback—he blinks hard and steps away slightly from Castiel.

“Um—” He fumbles for his words, his eyes growing worried, lines forming on his face.

“Because we have three spare rooms—and it just seems like a few too many, for just two people. So I was wondering.”

“We—um—” Dean swallows. “We’d always planned. But it, uh—it doesn’t really look like that’s a possibility, now.” He stares at the floor. Castiel notes how his voice rakes against his throat as he speaks. Broken. Broken again. He wishes he could think of something to say. Anything.

“Oh.” Is all that falls from his lips, and he kicks himself internally, because Dean’s expression is more than simply pained. It ripples with devastated emotion; and for a whole tidal waves of reasons other than himself; Castiel loathes whoever did this to him—caused him to be unable to remember his own _husband,_ because it is crushing Dean, destroying him.

“Yeah.” Dean nods, like he doesn’t know what else to say. “I’m gonna—” He turns to exit, fumbling for the door—Castiel’s insides tremble a little more when he realises that Dean is blinded by his own tears—before finally managing to open it and leave.

Castiel curls up on the couch, hugging his legs against his chest. He feels his tears slip down onto his face, hot and burning with regret.


	9. Confessions and Kisses

 

_“So what made you want to date me, in the end?” Dean grins, his hands wrapped around his coffee as though he is afraid his hands are going to fall off with cold. Castiel’s lips twitch upwards. He reaches out to ruffle Dean’s hair. Grins as Dean wrinkles his nose and attempts to bat the angel off._

_“It’s been nearly a year, Dean.” Castiel laughs. Dean grins and shrugs. “And you’ve asked me that on a countless number of occasions.”_

_“Yeah, so humour me one more time.” Dean laughs, pulling a dark woollen hat on to stop the angel from any further mussing of his hair. Castiel snorts and looks away. “C’mon, Cas—what made you want to date a human, when you used to hate us so much?”_

_“Well, first of all, you know that’s not true.” Castiel turns back to Dean._

_“What’s not true?”_

_“Most of the things you just said.” Castiel laughs._

_“Specify?” Dean smirks over his drink. Castiel watches as his breath fogs in the cold February air, drinks in the sight of Dean’s nose and cheeks, pink with the cold, of his fingerless gloves, of the way the human squeezes his drink so tightly the cardboard is beginning to bend under his fingers._

_“I wanted to date_ you.” _Castiel states, lips curving upwards. Dean breaks out into a bashful grin, eyes crinkling at their corners. “Not just any old human.”_

_“Oh, Cas, you flatter me.”_

_Castiel nudges Dean with his foot from where they sit, on the park bench._

_“And I didn’t hate humans.”_

_“You could’ve fooled me.” Dean snorts._

_“Okay, so maybe a little.” Castiel concedes. “But you have to admit, it was called for.”_

_“Yeah, it was fair enough.” Dean shrugs._

_“Still is.” Castiel smirks._

_“Sometimes I’m so amazed that you ever even_ thought _about dating me.” Dean chuckles. Castiel grins and shakes his head again._

_“Yeah, sometimes I am, too.”_

_Dean is the one to nudge Castiel in reprimand, this time. Castiel laughs and wraps his arm around Dean’s side, taking a sip of his own drink._

_“How’s your chai tea?” Dean asks, his tone slightly teasing. Castiel squeezes Dean’s side and rolls his eyes._

_“It’s great, thank you. Just like I said it’d be.” Castiel attempts to keep his face straight._ “Way _better than stupid, boring coffee.”_

_“You’re so pretentious.” Dean snorts._

_“You’re one to talk,” Castiel laughs. “You talk about cooking the most obscure shit in the world—”_

_“It’s classy, Cas, not pretentious.” Dean grins. “And_ you _tried to give a recipe for_ vegan lasagne—”

_“Which is actually really nice, you know.”_

_“Fuck, Cas, you’re such a hippy.”_

_“You’re not the first person to call me that.” Castiel chuckles. Dean smirks and leans in closer to Castiel’s body._

_“I’m sure I’m not.” He chuckles._

_Castiel turns and brushes his nose against the wool of Dean’s hat, wishing he could smell Dean’s hair, underneath it. He presses a kiss to the rough material on top of Dean’s head. Dean hums and nestles a little closer into Castiel’s side; burying his head in the angel’s shoulder. Castiel folds his wing over Dean’s body, almost on instinct._

_“So?” Dean asks, his words muffled as he speaks into Castiel’s side._

_“So, what?” Castiel frowns._

_“What made you want to date me?”_

_“Oh,” Castiel sighs, his voice rumbling with amusement. He should’ve expected this. “You’re not going to let this drop until I’ve answered, are you?”_

_“Nope.” Dean chuckles. Castiel snorts out another laugh and squeezes at Dean’s shoulder._

_“Probably your wonderful sense of humour.”_

_Dean nudges Castiel._

_“Sorry,” Castiel laughs. “Maybe it was your persistence.” He chuckles._

_Another nudge._

_“I don’t know what you want me to say!” He laughs, and Dean does too, looking up to catch Castiel’s lips against his own in a kiss._

_“I know what made me want to date_ you.” _He beams, pulling back only marginally, his breath fogging in the air just in front of them._

_“What’s that, then?” Castiel chuckles._

_“You’re perfect.” Dean states, simply. Castiel laughs and grazes his nose against Dean’s._

_“No, you.” He replies. Dean’s cheeks, already rosy with the cold, turn a still darker shade of pink. Castiel beams at the sight. “Or perhaps,” He starts, nudging Dean’s cold nose, “It’s because in all my years, I’ve never met anyone who blushes quite as lovely as you.”_

_“Fuck off.” Dean rolls his eyes, ready to pull away, despite the amused smile still etched at his features; but Castiel captures the human’s lips with his own, again, and Dean makes a muffled humming noise against the angel’s mouth._

_“You look cold.” Castiel notes, absently, glancing at Dean’s face, his frame, shivering slightly._

_“I’m fine.” Dean shakes his head._

_“We’re going back.” Castiel pulls at Dean to kiss him again, then stands, tugging Dean up off the bench. Dean grumbles in response._

_“Come on, Cas—”_

_“You’re shivering—and if you could see how red your cheeks and nose are—”_

_“Maybe that’s just ‘cause I’m doing some of my lovely blushing, for you.” Dean counters, ginning. Castiel laughs and kisses the human again._

_“Perhaps.” He hums. “But in any case,_ I’m _cold. And I’d very much like to not be so.”_

_“Fine.” Dean concedes. “I guess I’ll go back with you, then.”_

_“That’s very kind.” Castiel chuckles._

_Dean slips his hand into Castiel’s._

_They talk wonderful nonsense on the walk back—Castiel loves this, about Dean. The way in which he can make conversation about almost nothing at all feel warm and profound._

_Walking down the corridor back to Dean’s dorm room, Castiel presses the human up against a wall to kiss him, again. Dean makes a stifled moaning sound against his mouth._

_“You’re already starting to warm up.” Castiel hums, squeezing Dean’s hand, nudging under Dean’s jaw. “I was right.”_

_Dean laughs and shakes his head._

_“Idiot.” He breathes out. Castiel presses kisses onto the ridges of each of Dean’s glorious cheekbones._

_“You hate admitting when I’m right.” He grins against Dean’s skin._

_“You hate admitting when you’re_ wrong _.” Dean laughs. “I’m just making up for it.”_

_Castiel tuts teasingly and takes off Dean’s hat again, to ruffle at Dean’s hair._

_“Hey!” Dean exclaims._

_“Don’t worry,” Castiel grins. “Messy hair is especially endearing on you.”_

_“Idiot.” Dean laughs again. Castiel grins and presses his body back up against Dean’s, kissing at the human’s lips again. He thinks absently of how lucky they are that the corridors are, in general, so deserted at this part of the university._

_He pulls back to mess at Dean’s hair again. Dean laughs and ducks away, his expression childish and happy and wonderfully unfettered._

_“Stop it—” Dean laughs. He tries to bat away Castiel’s hands again, rather unconvincingly. The two of them laugh as Castiel reaches out again, an attempt to continue teasing Dean._

_“I love you.” Dean beams, breathing out the words in a sudden, thoughtless confession._

_Castiel’s hand falters._

_Dean’s face falls._

_“—Shit—” The word tumbles from Dean’s lips, much like his admission of love for Castiel. “—I’m sorry—” His face is a pained red. “Fuck—I didn’t mean to—I just—I—”_

_“—You love me?” Castiel finishes Dean’s sentence for him. Dean’s face has never looked so red. He seems devastated with his own mortification. The angel feels his lips twitch upwards. “You love me?” He repeats, stepping toward Dean again, pinning the human back up against the wall. Dean’s breath hitches. Castiel’s hand brushes, gently this time, through Dean’s hair._

_“—I—” Dean stammers. He looks down. Face a furious red. “—Yeah—”_

_“That’s good.” Castiel laughs gently. He nudges at Dean’s nose, causing the human to look up, again._

_“Good?” Dean repeats, frowning slightly, his face a devastated pink._

_“Good.” Castiel repeats. “Very good.” His lips twitch upwards into a gentle smile. He leans forward to graze his lips, the touch barely there at all, against Dean’s own; chapped by the recent cold, but soft, so very soft and full._

_“Because I love you, too.” Castiel nearly whispers as he pulls back from Dean’s mouth. Dean’s breathing falters. Castiel moves his hand up to drag the pad of his thumb across Dean’s flushed cheek._

_“You do?” Dean asks, his voice cracked and quiet._

_“So much.” Castiel beams. “So very much.”_

_He presses his lips against Dean’s again. Dean moans into his mouth. His hands tremble as they move up to card through Castiel’s feathers. Castiel pulls back again. Nudges at Dean’s nose again. The human beams. Castiel ruffles Dean’s hair, once more. Dean’s smile is incomparable._

 

Castiel wakes up from where he had apparently fallen asleep, on the couch. Dean’s hand is brushing against his shoulder, in an attempt to rouse him, as the human crouches beside the couch.

“Cas,” He squeezes Castiel’s arm. “You okay?”

Castiel mumbles out a sleepy confirmation, stirring and sitting up slightly. He blinks, recalling his dream.

“You hungry?” Dean asks gently.

Castiel blinks again.

The dream—no, memory. Definitely memory.

“You said I love you first.” He states, his voice rough and gravelly with sleep.

“What?” Dean frowns, rocking back on his heels slightly, a perplexed expression flitting across his features.

“You said I love you first.” Castiel repeats, turning to gaze intently at Dean. “Didn’t you?”

Dean’s face colours.

“How did you—”

“And you were really embarrassed, because it was an accident.” Castiel adds. The flush creeps across Dean’s ears.

“Um—” He sputters, glancing down, then up again.

“Is that right?” Castiel asks, frowning slightly. Dean meets his gaze for only a moment and nods. Castiel’s shoulders slump in relief. It wasn’t just a dream. Castiel is remembering more and more—and maybe one day, he’ll remember everything. He’ll remember everything about _Dean._

“Yeah.” Dean confirms. “—How—”

“I just remembered.” Castiel states. Dean glances up at him, again. His expression softens.

“You did?”

“Yes,” Castiel confirms, unsure why it is that Dean is uncertain of his honesty at this moment in time. Dean’s hand has moved to be resting on the surface of the couch. Castiel reaches out and grazes his fingers against Dean’s knuckles. Much like each of the other times Castiel can recall touching Dean affectionately, the human jolts beneath his fingers in surprise. “And you didn’t believe me when I said that I loved you, too.” Castiel states. Dean swallows.

“No,” Dean shakes his head. “I had a little trouble getting my head around that one.”

“You shouldn’t have.” Castiel states quietly, certainly. “It was true.”

Dean’s lips twitch upwards.

“True?”

“Very true.” Castiel says. Dean’s eyes flick back up to his face. Castiel sits up a little more. “I think I’d just been afraid to say it.” He states. His face is painfully close to Dean’s now. He watches as the human’s breath catches in his throat, as his eyes widen only marginally, but Castiel doesn’t miss the motion. “It’s probably a good thing you _did_ say it,” Castiel mumbles amusedly.

His nose is nearly bumping with Dean’s.

“Yeah?” Dean asks, his voice quiet and cracked.

“Yes,” Castiel nods. “Because I might’ve _always_ been too scared to say it.”

“But you were always so brave, Cas.” Dean states, his voice breaking in his throat because of just _how close_ he and Castiel are, now.

“Not when it came to my feelings for you, I think.” Castiel mumbles softly. “I found it hard to admit how much you meant to me. Even in the very early days.” He watches as Dean’s lips twitch upwards into a shy smile. “Even now.” Castiel adds. Dean glances up again, his eyes wide and unbelieving, and Castiel feels his hand stroking softly up Dean’s neck. He watches as the human shudders beneath his fingers, his eyes flickering down to Castiel’s lips for only a moment, before the pink tinge returns to his cheeks.

“Cas—” Dean’s voice is cracked, lost.

“Do I tell you how beautiful I think you are, Dean?” Castiel asks. Dean’s eyes change as confusion sparks behind them. “Do I ever tell you?”

The pink on Dean’s cheeks deepens further.

“Um—” He fumbles for his words. “—Yeah—you do—”

“Good,” Castiel hums, his nose grazing Dean’s only slightly. “I hope I tell you every day.”

“I—”

“You’re so beautiful.” Castiel sighs. He feels Dean’s soft exhalation against his lips. Castiel’s fingers are running tenderly through Dean’s velvet hair.

Dean’s eyes flicker down to the angel’s lips again, before their mouths meet—only softly; only for a moment, but the touch is more glorious than anything Castiel can recall having experienced. So he leans in to kiss Dean again, and shifts from where he sits on the couch, bending to kiss Dean deeper, to taste the human’s mouth—and it’s all so familiar, and so beautiful and perfect; and Castiel thinks of how Dean tastes like pie and mouthwash and smooth whiskey and coffee and it has Castiel beaming into the kiss; which only makes Dean laugh against his mouth, which sounds gloriously like music in Castiel’s ears, now. His fingers drag through Dean’s hair—the human moans at the touch—or maybe at the kiss—or maybe at both—and something deep and scorching is swirling inside of Castiel’s gut, twisting at his stomach and chest, burning him from the inside out.

“Um—” Dean pants, pulling back only slightly, his forehead pressed against Castiel’s, “I was going to say that dinner’s ready, if you wanted anything.”

Castiel sighs and closes his eyes a moment.

“Yes,” He nods. “You’ll be eating with me?” He asks.

“Of course.” Dean’s smile is agonisingly gentle.

“Then yes.” Castiel nods again. Dean’s beam in response is saturated with adoration.

“Come on,” He stands and tugs Castiel gently up by the hand. Castiel brushes his lips against Dean’s again, as he rises; which the human seems to find endearingly embarrassing, because his blush in response is the loveliest thing Castiel thinks he’s ever seen.

“You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to, you know, Cas—” Dean croaks against Castiel’s mouth. The angel frowns.

“What do you mean?” He asks. “Do what?”

“Kiss me—this kind of thing.” Dean gestures, small, between the two of them. “You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to—especially if you’re just worried that I’m lonely or upset—”

“—I kissed you because I wanted to, Dean.” Castiel frowns. Dean’s gaze shifts, for whatever reason. “Because I think you’re beautiful,” Castiel brushes his knuckles against Dean’s cheek, which turns another charming shade of pink, “because you’ve been so kind a good to me, because I can tell, already, that I am doomed to fall in love with you, all over again.”

Dean’s eyes seem to glass over. Castiel nudges gently at Dean’s nose, a silent question, and Dean answers it by sealing his lips with Castiel’s, all over again.

“I don’t know what to say.” Dean laughs, pulling back. Castiel’s fingers wind absently through the human’s hair.

“That’s okay.” He shrugs.

“Do you think you’ll ever remember everything?” Dean asks, his voice small and shy.

Castiel presses his lips together. Falls silent for a moment. Dean’s gaze presses at his face all the while.

“I don’t know—I mean, you’d probably have to ask a doctor that, wouldn’t you? But I suppose—I’ve remembered stuff so far, why shouldn’t something trigger everything else?”

Dean nods.

“And I hope so.” Castiel continues. “I want to be able to remember everything about you.” His lips twitch upwards. “You deserve that.”

Dean glances down, his grin bashful.

“I was scared you’d never feel anything for me, again.” He admits. Castiel’s heart softens. “When you first woke up, in that hospital bed, and said that you couldn’t remember anything about me; I thought the days of you loving me were over. I thought you’d feel nothing but hatred for me, forever.”

“I never hated you.” Castiel frowns, shaking his head.

Dean merely raises his eyebrows at Castiel, unconvinced.

“I didn’t hate you so much as I hated myself.” Castiel shrugs. “And I only hadn’t realised how perfect you are.”

“I’m definitely not perfect.” Dean looks down.

“To me.”

“You hardly know me.”

“Then it should say something, that I consider you so faultless, already.”

“You just haven’t seen me on one of my bad days.”

“What are your bad days like?” Castiel frowns.

“I don’t know.” Dean shrugs. “Tears, self-loathing, that kind of thing. They usually end with you picking me up and kissing away the pain.”

“How often do you have them?” Castiel’s frown winds, anxiously, around his face.

“Not in a while.” Dean admits.

“Why did you _ever_ have them?” Castiel asks. He realises that he is squeezing Dean’s arm.

“It’s a long story.” Dean sighs. “And probably not one for right now.” He looks down. “Anyway,” He looks up again, his nose brushing—perhaps unintentionally—against Castiel’s, as he does so, “should we go on through to the kitchen? Eat?”

“Okay.” Castiel nods. His mind is slowly unravelling all that Dean has said to him. Slowly taking it apart, piecing Dean Winchester together in what is hopefully the right order.

The issue is: Dean is impossibly complex. And what is more, Castiel cannot help but be fascinated by every inch of him.


	10. No Parents

Dean takes Castiel to the park, that weekend. After walking a while, they sit together in the cool night air on a bench gifted with a charming view of the neighbourhood in which Dean and Castiel both live. Castiel rests his head on Dean’s shoulder without a second thought—although this action is apparently of far more consequence to Dean than Castiel could have anticipated—he returns to his usual state of (admittedly charming) babbling and blushing, his whole body tensing up for a moment before relaxing against Castiel’s.

“You alright?” Castiel asks quietly, affection curling his lips upwards and lacing his voice as he speaks. Dean laughs a little and glances down at Castiel, his fingers lacing with the angel’s.

“Yeah, Cas.” He smiles, his voice warm and gravelly. “I’m fine.”

“What’s so funny?” Castiel asks.

“Nothing.” Dean shakes his head. “I’m just happy.”

“That’s good.” Castiel hums, the warmth curling at the inside of his chest, now.

“It is.” Dean agrees softly. There is another pause. “Well,” Dean corrects himself, breaking the silence as his mouth curves upwards into another amused smile, “the thing that was _kind of_ funny—it’s just, it’s usually me who rest _my_ head on _your_ shoulder. Not the other way around. That’s all.”

“Oh,” Castiel frowns, ready to remove himself from Dean’s side, but the human laughs again and loops his warm arm round Castiel’s body.

“No, Cas, I’m not complaining.” Dean chuckles. “Honestly, I’ve really missed this.”

“Sorry,” Castiel worries at his lip, but Dean nudges under the angel’s jaw and forces him to look upwards.

“Hey,” He says softly. “It’s not your fault.”

Castiel wants to look down.

“Hey,” Dean says again, hands slipping down to Castiel’s shoulders, squeezing them, as he leans forward to rest his head on Castiel’s forehead. “I want you to remember that. Can you promise me you will?”

Castiel shrugs, but Dean is persistent.

“I’m serious, Cas—you have this habit of blaming yourself for shit; and it’s not good. This isn’t your fault. Not at all.”

Castiel sighs.

“I still feel bad—”

“And you _shouldn’t_.” Dean says, firmly. Castiel isn’t massively used to this tone, from Dean’s mouth. The human’s hand grazes against Castiel’s wing, the touch feels gorgeously tender and painfully familiar—and Castiel is sure that there was once a time when he would have let _no one,_ excluding Rachel, of course, touch his wings—particularly in this way. But apparently Dean is an exception, even now. And this fact is of no surprise to Castiel. His eyes begin to flutter closed.

“What else have you missed?” Castiel asks, the words quiet and mumbled as they fall from his lips. He feels Dean exhale; his warm breath hitting Castiel’s face, and he swallows, feeling his body being pulled closer to Dean; as though some kind of force of gravity is tugging at his core, forcing him to lean in further.

“I’ve missed being able to sleep next to you, at night.” Dean speaks gently, as though he can tell how suddenly calm Castiel feels in his arms; as though he wishes for the angel to remain in this drowsy, quietly contented state.

“But now you’ve got that, again.” Castiel mumbles, still not opening his eyes. He feels Dean exhale again, a breath of gentle laughter as he nods in agreement.

“Yeah, I do.” He hums. “And it makes me so happy being able to wake up to you, again. I’d missed it.”

“I like waking up to you, too.” Castiel murmurs. He hears Dean huff out a happy breath. “What else have you missed?” He asks.

“Holding you.” Dean’s voice smiles gently. “Having you hold me. Be it at night, or just while we’re sitting on the couch, or, like we are, right now.”

Castiel likes how Dean’s voice sounds.

“What else?”

“Being able to talk with you. Sometimes we just talk for _hours_ , you know.”

“Really?” Castiel asks. Dean makes a soft sound of confirmation. “What about?”

“Anything.” Dean chuckles. Castiel feels Dean shrug against him. “We used waste whole nights just talking about both everything and absolutely nothing.”

“That sounds nice.” Castiel mumbles.

“It was.” Dean agrees. “Well, _is_.”

“What else?” Castiel asks.

“Kissing you.” Dean chuckles.

“You can kiss me now, if you want.” Castiel says. His eyes flicker open again, at last. Dean’s hand moves to frame Castiel’s jaw. The angel watches as the same affectionate smile—the one Dean was wearing in each of his memories—glimmers across the human’s features.

“Yeah?” He asks softly.

“Yeah.” Castiel confirms. Dean’s expression grows only more tender and adoring as he brushes his lips against Castiel’s. Castiel closes his eyes again. Dean’s hand moves to run through the angel’s hair—the other moves to his wings, again; and it’s perfect. Castiel’s insides are fluttering, dancing. He pulls back to catch the human beaming.

 

…

 

_“Your parents campaigned for angel rights?” Castiel frowns. Dean looks up from where he sits, on the floor, inbetween Castiel’s and Ezekiel’s bed, on the respective sides of the room. He is fumbling with his hands nervously, as seems to be his habit when speaking to the angel._

_“You didn’t know that?” Ezekiel frowns across to Castiel, from where he lies on his bed. Castiel glares at him before turning to Dean and raising his eyebrows at the human, encouraging him to speak up._

_“—Yeah.” Dean nods, seeming slightly taken aback that Castiel is speaking to him so directly. “—I mean, my mom did. My dad was a marine and not home much, so when he was, he preferred to spend his time with his family, free of drama and distractions, but—” Dean cuts himself off, blushing. “—Sorry.” He shakes his head. “I’m babbling.”_

_Castiel ignores the urge to press a kiss to the ridge of Dean’s nose._

_“That’s fine.” He shakes his head, frowning slightly. Dean doesn’t seem to think so—he looks down, his ears an impossible shade of pink, hands trembling slightly._

_“My parents did, too.” Castiel states, attempting to regain Dean’s attention. It works—Dean looks up, his face apparently beginning to cool down a bit, and gives Castiel a look that seems to be encouraging him to continue. “They, uh—they were very politically involved.”_

_“Castiel seemed to pick it up from them.” Ezekiel grins. This comment earns him another glare._

_“Well, it’s a good thing that I did.” Castiel frowns._

_“What makes you say that?” Dean asks, his big, jade eyes fixed on Castiel. The angel regards him slowly._

_“My parents were killed by human supremacists.” Castiel states, plainly. Dean looks embarrassed and uncomfortable again._

_“Oh—” He stammers. “—Sorry—”_

_Castiel resists the urge to roll his eyes and looks back down to the revision book in his lap._

_“—Um—” Dean sputters again. Castiel doesn’t look up. “—Extremists killed my mom and dad, too.”_

_Now, Castiel looks up._

_“What?” He frowns._

_“Uh—they were kind of pissed at my mom, I think—thought she was some kind of traitor, or whatever—and set fire to our home.”_

_“Oh.” Castiel frowns. “I’m sorry to hear that.” He doesn’t quite know what the appropriate thing is to say. “—But you survived?”_

_Whatever the appropriate thing was, it wasn’t that._

_Ezekiel seems to think so, too—he glares at Castiel as Dean avoids eye-contact with both of them._

_“My dad handed me my brother, Sammy, and told me to run, when the flames weren’t too big.” Dean explains. “Then he ran back inside to find my mom, to get her out of there; and he didn’t come back.”_

_“Oh.” Castiel says, again. He feels painfully stupid. Uncomfortable. Guilty. “I’m sorry—”_

_Dean shrugs and fiddles with a seam on his worn jeans._

_“Dean,” Ezekiel says suddenly, looking away from Castiel. “How about we go and get some pizza? I’m starved.”_

_“Okay.” Dean nods, straightening up a little. “Does Cas—”_

_“He’s fine.” Ezekiel glances back up at Castiel. Gives him a hard, reprimanding look. Dean nods and stands. “It’s on me,” Ezekiel states. “If you wanna wait outside while I find my wallet.”_

_“Alright.” Dean nods. He exits, stealing an embarrassed glance in Castiel’s direction, before closing the door behind him._

_Castiel frowns when he notices Ezekiel pull out his wallet from his back pocket and check how much money it contains._

_“Why did you—”_

_“Sooner or later, Castiel,” Ezekiel interrupts, looking up at Castiel and glaring at him. “You’re going to have to admit that Dean is actually a decent guy. Human or not. And you’re gonna have to stop being a dick to him.”_

_Castiel is taken aback._

_“What—”_

_“Just stop.” Ezekiel sighs, rubbing his palm over his face and standing. “You made him really fucking uncomfortable today, not for the first time. Just stop.” He repeats._

_Castiel feels more guilt worm up, ugly, inside of him. He doesn’t know how to respond. Ezekiel has exited before he’s given the chance._

…

 

Castiel wakes suddenly. He feels the same guilt coiling around his heart as he felt in his dream. No, memory. He cringes internally as he gazes at the sleeping form of Dean.

He watches as Dean’s dark brown eyelashes flutter slightly. He thinks, not for the first time, of how beautiful the human is. He usually has to refrain from staring for too long; but while Dean sleeps, it seems the perfect opportunity for Castiel to take the time to admire each flaw and facet and detail of the human. He counts the crow’s feet around Dean’s eyes, formed from too many genuine, warm smiles.

He notes the line of the scar on Dean’s forearm. Smiles at the sight of Dean’s nails, only slightly unkempt, the subtle remnants of dirt and oil from his cars caught underneath them. He resists the urge to rub his face against Dean’s stubble, to press his head into Dean’s neck and inhale him; slow and soft, to memorise his scent.

And not for the first time, Castiel tries not to think of his cold treatment towards Dean—this time, his frostiness in the earlier days of their acquaintanceship, long before he lost his memory.

He wonders if Dean knows that Castiel was so withdrawn in an attempt to stop himself from growing feelings for the human.

Dean stirs. Muffles a sleepy groan into his pillow. Pulls Castiel’s body to his. Castiel feels his lips twitch upwards as he obliges the human, sliding his arm round Dean’s body and shuffling closer. Dean seems to appreciate this—he hums happily and curls his body against Castiel’s, pressing his forehead against Castiel’s clavicle. Castiel’s hand has wandered into Dean’s hair before he can even think to do otherwise.

Dean hums again and trails his fingers gently through Castiel’s wings.

“Missed this.” He mumbles. Castiel smiles, despite himself. He doesn’t know how he should reply; although Dean doesn’t seem to mind. He merely settles deeper into Castiel’s arms, nosing at the angel’s chest. Castiel feels warm affection uncurl throughout him at the touch. He doesn’t know if he should ask Dean about his parents. He doesn’t know if this would be crossing some kind of line; if it would upset Dean; if Dean doesn’t like talking about this particular element of his past, even with Castiel.

He closes his eyes. Allows himself to inhale the reassuring scent of Dean’s hair. Castiel is sure that he’s falling in love with Dean. Again.

 


	11. First Kisses (Late Night Drinking Games)

“You didn’t tell me how your parents died.” Castiel frowns, over lunch, that day. Dean nearly chokes and looks up, his face an odd combination between incredibly uncomfortable, taken aback, and offended.

“I _did.”_ He states, mirroring Castiel’s frown. “You just couldn’t remember.”

Castiel feels suddenly taken aback, too—Dean has never been so blunt in his responses to Castiel’s questions, before.

“Fine, then you didn’t tell me _again,_ and you _should—”_

“And what, Cas? You want me to go over every painful detail of my life, just because?”

Castiel frowns.

“Going over this kind of shit _hurts_.” Dean sighs, rubbing his face. “And personally, I don’t particularly like having to go into it in any amount of detail.”

“You could’ve—”

“Why, Cas?” Dean looks up again, frowning. “So you could feel less guilty about marrying me? So you could sleep at night, that little bit easier?—I mean, I get that humans are dicks; but _seriously_ Cas, if the only reason you’ve been letting yourself grow close to me again is because you remembered—”

Dean cuts himself off. He looks suddenly horrified, guilty.

 _“Shit,”_ He mutters, body tensing. “—Sorry—I didn’t mean—”

Castiel stares at the table, his jaw setting. He shrugs tersely.

“It’s fine.” He shakes his head. “I understand—I only had the memory this morning—it’s not like—” Castiel sighs. “I don’t know.” He shrugs. “I didn’t get much sleep last night,” He lies, standing up. “Would it be alright if I went to bed to nap?”

Dean looks up again, his face lined with worry.

“Sure, Cas.” He nods. He gives another of those painfully fake smiles—the ones which Castiel had not seen for days, before now—and picks up the plates. “You get some sleep.”

Castiel nods stiffly and makes his way to the door.

“—I’m sorry for being so—” Dean doesn’t seem to know what to say as Castiel grips the door handle. “Y’know.” He shrugs. “I just—it’s not easy to talk about. And it’s been a rough month. That’s all.”

“I understand.” Castiel nods. He looks away again; feels the guilt worming up through his heart, once more.

 

…

 

Castiel doesn’t sleep. He can’t. He spends his time, instead, working his way through the photographs again. It is when examining a picture of him and Dean, smiling widely next to each other as they sit on Castiel’s bed. The angel feels something inside of him ache in longing at the sight.

There is a look in Dean’s eyes that Castiel has only seen the ghost of over the past few weeks. Only when Castiel has shown affection toward Dean, or told him of his memories. The angel doubts that he’ll ever be able to see the look on Dean’s face, fully, again—not after all that happened over lunch.

He sighs to himself. Perhaps he is overthinking. Over-worrying. His eyes flit back down to the picture. Something inside of him stirs.

_“Hey, ‘Zeke—” Dean steps into the room, grinning somewhat triumphantly, but no sooner than he has done so, his face turns the familiar shade of red as he spots Castiel. “—Oh—” He cuts himself off. “—Sorry—I thought he’d be in here…” Dean glances about the room uncomfortably. Castiel presses his lips together._

_“Well, he’s out.” The angel shrugs. Dean shifts on his feet, as though he desperately wants to leave._

_“Do you know when he’ll be back?” Dean asks. Castiel glances at the bag in Dean’s hand._

_“No, sorry.” He shakes his head. “He’s at a party, I think. Won’t be back for a while, if at all, tonight.”_

_“Oh.” Dean sputters slightly. “Well, I’ll get out of your hair—I’m sorry for bothering you—” The human makes his way to leave, but something about this has the angel reaching out his hand to stop Dean from exiting._

_“You don’t have to go,” Castiel says quickly. Dean looks up, hopefully. “Stay a while, if you want.” He shrugs. “Just because Ezekiel’s not here, doesn’t mean you have to leave.” He laughs. Dean does the same, albeit rather nervously._

_“Right,” He shakes his head. “I, uh—I got some Jack—I was gonna share it with ‘Zeke, but you’re here, so—”_

_“How did you get hold of that?” Castiel frowns. Dean glances up again. “You’re underage.”_

_“I’ve got my methods.” Dean laughs, a bashful grin spreading across his face._

_“Well, whatever they are, I wish I’d known about them when I was a freshman.”_

_Dean laughs again, nervous from the flattery._

_“What do you do to get hold of booze, then?” The human asks, still sounding slightly uneasy._

_“I used to just scrounge off friends.” Castiel shrugs. “But then I met a guy who did ID’s, got him to make me one at a discount.”_

_“You’ve got a fake ID?” Dean sounds wonderfully impressed, and something about the sound has Castiel’s insides curling with warmth._

_“Yeah,” He shrugs, laughing. “But you’ve gotta use it somewhere where it’s unlikely they’ll clock that you go here, to the university, and that you’re underage when it comes to buying alcohol.”_

_Dean nods, smiling—his face is still that endearing shade of red, but he looks far more comfortable in the dorm room, alone with Castiel._

_“Do you want to sit down?” Castiel asks, feeling his lips twitch upwards with amusement at the fact that Dean is still standing, charmingly dorkishly, in the middle of the room._

_“Right.” Dean shakes his head. He tugs one of the beanbags from out of its place, in the corner of the room, but Castiel laughs and nudges it away with his foot as soon as it is in kicking distance. Dean looks thoroughly taken aback. “I—” He stammers, his face red. The angel shakes his head and shifts along his bed, making room for Dean._

_“Here.” Castiel says. “You can sit next to me, if you want. I know how uncomfortable those things are.” He nods over to the beanbags, before turning back to Dean, who looks as though—well, Castiel isn’t quite sure. Dean looks happy—hugely so—and taken aback, again. And terrified. And then he nods stiffly and sits next to Castiel, hands in his lap._

_“You should be careful with that, by the way.” Castiel nods to the bag. Dean glances up, frowning._

_“What do you mean?” He asks._

_“If the dean catches you with it, you’ll be eaten alive.”_

_“Oh,” Dean laughs. “Yeah.”_

_He pulls the bottle out of the bag and opens it._

_“Well, I won’t tell if you won’t.” He grins—for one of the few times in his and Castiel’s interactions, he looks rather confident and roguish. Something about his expression and tone has Castiel bursting out laughing—which makes Dean’s face light up with some kind of invulnerable happiness; and Castiel cannot be sure, but he thinks that as Dean relaxes, now that the angel is laughing at his joke, he also shifts slightly closer to the angel._

_“I don’t have any glasses, or anything.” Dean states, glancing down. Castiel shrugs._

_“That’s fine.” He replies, nonchalantly. “We can drink straight from the bottle.”_

_“Fair enough.” Dean laughs. “Do you want first swig?”_

_“It’s your Jack,” Castiel laughs. “You should probably break into it.”_

_“Alright.” Dean grins, before taking a drink from the bottle. He winces as soon as he’s swallowed, wrinkling his nose in disgust._

_“How is it?” Castiel asks, laughing._

_“Like piss.” Dean shakes his head._

_“Maybe it’s an acquired taste.”_

_“I can believe it.”_

_Castiel chuckles and shakes his head, taking the bottle when it is offered to him._

_“It’ll probably grow on you.” He shrugs._

_“Like coffee does.”_

_“Like coffee,” Castiel agrees, taking a gulp of the drink. “But it’s probably best not to drink in the morning.”_

_“Probably.” Dean chuckles, taking another drink. “Fuck,” He gasps. “It’s so bad.”_

_“You’re just too immature to appreciate fine whiskey.” Castiel grins. Dean rolls his eyes. “I’m seriously so lost as to how you got a hold of this.” He shakes his head. “Shit’s expensive as hell.”_

_“Yeah,” Dean shrugs. “But I’ve got friends.”_

_“I never said you didn’t.”_

“Good _friends.” Dean corrects._

_“Good friends buy you alcohol?” Castiel raises his eyebrows._

_“Give a little, take a little.” Dean shrugs._

_“What kind of give are we talking, here?” Castiel asks, chuckling._

_“I have my ways.” Dean replies, conspiratorially._

_“I might just have to buy you some drinks myself, if that’s how it is.” Castiel laughs. “I think I’d like to see these ways in action.”_

_Dean’s blush in response to this is the loveliest Castiel thinks he’s ever seen—except; rather unlike the Dean Castiel has seen in the past, this time he replies—albeit rather self-consciously—instead of merely flushing red and shrugging._

_“_ You _wouldn’t have to buy me a drink, first, Cas.”_

_Castiel’s eyebrows shoot upwards in surprise._

_“Is that so?”_

_“Yeah.” Dean nods, looking down._

_Castiel takes a drink._

_“Well, I think I’ll have to take you up on that, some time.”_

_Dean’s breath catches in his throat as his head shoots back up to look at Castiel._

_The angel hands him the drink. He takes it._

_“People usually have mixers for these.” Castiel gestures to the bottle. “To drown out the taste. Coke, and the like.”_

_“People have no class.” Dean shrugs. “We’re drinkin’ it straight.”_

_“You certainly seem to have changed your tune.” Castiel chuckles Dean laughs softly and shakes his head._

_“Take it as me trying to impress you, Cas.”_

_“It wouldn’t be the first time.” Castiel smirks. Dean’s face turns the painful shade of red. “You know, if you spin round after taking shots, you’re supposed to get drunker, faster.”_

_“Is that with whiskey, though?” Dean asks. “Would it have the same effect?”_

_“It’s probably with everything.” Castiel laughs._

_“Well then,” Dean hands Castiel the bottle. “You first.”_

_Castiel rolls his eyes and takes a swig from the bottle._

_“Ahh,” He wrinkles his nose. “That’s gone straight to my head.”_

_“You still have to spin.” Dean grins._

_Castiel pulls a face of mock exasperation and stands, turning round._

_“Faster.” Dean says. “I bet it has to be faster than that.”_

_Castiel swats at Dean, but spins again, anyway._

_He sits down, feeling slightly lightheaded._

_“’It work?” Dean asks. Castiel looks up at him._

_“I’m pretty fucking sure, yeah.” He nods. He gestures to the Jack, now in Dean’s hands. “Your go.”_

_Dean steels himself and takes a drink, before standing and spinning._

_“Oh, fuck.” He stumbles slightly. “Yeah, okay, you were right.”_

_“Told you.” Castiel smirks triumphantly. He turns where he sits and lies back on the bed. Dean glances down at him. “Come on, then.” Castiel frowns, patting the empty space beside him. Dean takes a large gulp of a drink before lying down next to the angel._

_“It feels like warm blankets are coiling in my tummy.” Dean states, absently. Castiel glances at him before bursting out laughing._

_“You’re adorable.”_

_Dean’s cheeks tinge with pink._

_“And probably right.” Castiel presses a hand to his stomach. “It feels like that to me, too.”_

_“It’s nice.”_

_“It is.” Castiel agrees, distractedly, as his gaze flits down to Dean’s lips. “We should go outside.” He states._

_“What?” Dean frowns._

_“We should drink outside.”_

_“We’ll get caught.” Dean laughs._

_“So?”_

_“You’re such an idiot.” The human beams despite himself, shaking his head._

_“It’s a very romantic setting.” Castiel hums. “Night. The dark sky. With whiskey.”_

_“It’d be more romantic if it was champagne.” Dean grins._

_“Beggars can’t be choosers.”_

_“That’s true.” Dean hums. He looks up at the ceiling, handing Castiel the bottle before looping his arms behind his head. There’s a silence, for a moment. Castiel takes a large gulp before handing the bottle back to Dean. Dean sighs. Takes a swig. Sighs again._

_“What is it?” Castiel asks, frowning slightly._

_“This isn’t going to help me.” He groans, rubbing his face. “It’s such a mistake.”_

_“What do you mean?” Castiel’s frown grows with confusion._

_“I shouldn’t be doing this. Thinking shit means shit when it doesn’t.”_

_“It doesn’t mean shit?”_

_“Nope.”_

_“Sorry, what doesn’t?” Castiel squints._

_“Me drinking with you. Me thinking you—” Dean sighs resignedly._

_“What are you talking about?”_

_“It may have escaped your notice, Cas—and please note that I’m only saying this ‘cause I’m really quite fucking tipsy—but I have an enormous, painful, irreparable crush on you. Always have.”_

_“It hadn’t escaped my notice, no.” Castiel admits, shaking his head. Dean groans._

_“Figures.” He sighs again._

_“What’s the problem?”_

_“I’m an idiot, is what’s the problem.” Dean mutters. Castiel frowns and shoves Dean._

_“What was that for?!” Dean scowls._

_“You being an idiot and thinking you’re an idiot.”_

_Dean squints in confusion at the angel, but Castiel has already sat up._

_“Come on,” He says, reaching for Dean’s hand and tugging at it. “Let’s go outside.”_

_“We’ll get caught—”_

_“What’s life without a little risk?” Castiel shrugs carelessly, tugging Dean up off the bed._

_“You’re impossible—”_

_“It’s been said.” Castiel shrugs again, pulling Dean out of the dorm._

_“And maddening.” Dean says. Castiel laughs. “And maddeningly stubborn.”_

_“That’s also been said.”_

_“I bet Ezekiel says it all the time.”_

_“He does.” Castiel nods. “I’m surprised he doesn’t say it behind my back, to be honest.”_

_“Oh, he does.” Dean grins. Castiel rolls his eyes, laughing, and pushes open the doors leading outside. “It’s cold.” Dean states, as soon as he steps out into the dark._

_“Yeah, it is.” Castiel agrees. He turns to Dean. “We could huddle together for warmth.”_

_“Or we could just go inside—”_

_“Cuddling sounds better.” Castiel pulls Dean down, onto the floor. He can’t see, in the dark, but he’s sure that the human is blushing, right now._

_“You said huddling, before.”_

_“Well, cuddling sounds even_ better _than huddling, wouldn’t you agree?”_

_“I guess.” Dean shrugs awkwardly._

_Castiel hands him the bottle._

_“Okay,” He says, “new game. We take it in turns to say something, and you have to drink, if you’ve ever done that thing before. Deal?”_

_Dean frowns._

_“You’ll drink, too?” He asks, raising his eyebrows._

_“Of course.” Castiel shuffles a little closer to Dean._

_“Fine.” Dean nods._

_“Got so drunk you’ve been sick.” Castiel says. Dean laughs and shakes his head._

_“Seriously?” Castiel raises his eyebrows, grabbing the bottle and taking a drink._

_“Seriously.” Dean confirms. “I’ve passed out, I’ve done crazy embarrassing shit,_ taken _all kinds of awful shit, but I’m good at keeping puke down.”_

_“Lucky.” Castiel shakes his head. “Do you even get hung-over?”_

_“Yeah.” Dean laughs. “And I’ve got so wasted that I woke up, and was still drunk.”_

_“Haven’t we all?” Castiel grins._

_“Alright, my turn.” Dean chuckles, taking the bottle from Castiel and placing it inbetween them, again. He pauses a moment, thinking._

_“Okay: kissed Ezekiel.”_

_“No!” Castiel laughs, shaking his head. “Have you?”_

_“No,” Dean grins. “I was just seeing if you had.”_

_“Have you ever_ wanted _to?”_

_“No.” Dean shakes his head. “You?”_

_“No.”_

_“Poor guy.” Dean hums. “Facing rejection at every corner.”_

_Castiel laughs and bumps Dean with his shoulder._

_“Alright, next one: kissed a guy.”_

_Both of them drink._

_“Lost my virginity.”_

_Both of them drink._

_“When did you lose yours?”_

_“High school.” Castiel shrugs. “You?”_

_“It depends what you define as virginity.”_

_“What do you mean by that?”_

_“It depends.” Dean shrugs again._

_“You’re being deliberately vague.” Castiel sighs._

_“Yeah.” Dean replies, flatly._

_Castiel rolls his eyes._

_“You just don’t want to elaborate?”_

_“Don’t even want to talk about it.” Dean shrugs._

_“Okay,” Castiel nods, “fair enough.”_

_“Sucked a guy’s dick.”_

_Both of them drink._

_“Had someone suck my dick.”_

_Castiel drinks. Dean doesn’t._

_“Seriously?” Castiel raises his eyebrows._

_“Yeah.” Dean nods._

_“Why’s that?”_

_“I guess nobody’s ever wanted to.” Dean admits, swallowing thickly._

_“I refuse to believe that.” Castiel laughs._

_“Well, that doesn’t make it any less true.”_

_“Why haven’t you?”_

_“I’m a giver.” Dean shrugs._

_“Not to that point.” Castiel frowns. “That’s ridiculous. Unless you’ve never wanted anyone to do it?”_

_“I’ve definitely wanted people to.”_

_“So why not?”_

_Dean sighs._

_“I don’t know, Cas, okay? Why do you want my tragic backstory, anyway?”_

_“Because I care about you.” Castiel replies, honestly. Dean looks up, taken aback. “And what’s with the ‘Cas’ thing, anyway?” He asks. “You’ve been calling me that all evening.”_

_“Um—” Dean shakes his head. “—I don’t know—I’m sorry—”_

_“You don’t need to apologise.” Castiel shrugs. “What’s the problem with a nickname?”_

_“Right.” Dean nods awkwardly. “So it’s okay?”_

_“It’s fine.” The angel laughs. “Nice, even.”_

_Dean’s expression changes into something Castiel finds difficult to recognise._

_“Here’s another,” Castiel says, changing the subject. “Done sexual favours for alcohol.”_

_Dean sighs and drinks._

_“I knew it!” Castiel laughs._

_“I know you knew it.” Dean groans._

_“What kind of favours?”_

_“Whatever they want, really.” Dean shrugs. “Chances are I’ve done worse, anyway.”_

_“Smoked weed.”_

_Dean drinks. So does Castiel._

_“Seriously?” Dean asks._

_“You’re surprised?”_

_“You just don’t seem like the type.”_

_“Dean, I burn incense in my room.”_

_“Yeah, I know. Ezekiel complains about it all the time.”_

_“All I’m saying is, I really sort of_ am _the type.”_

_“You mean that you’re a hippy.” Dean grins._

_“If that’s the way you see it.” Castiel laughs._

_“Stolen something.”_

_Castiel drinks._

_“Seriously?” Dean asks, again._

_“Yes.” Castiel frowns._

_“What kind of stuff?”_

_“Food, mainly.”_

_“Why?”_

_“Dean, I was raised in a children’s home.”_

_“Then that hardly counts. You needed it.”_

_“It still counts as stealing, whether you need it or not.”_

_Dean frowns._

_“You’d still get put in prison for it.” Castiel reminds. “And why do you think most people steal, anyway?”_

_“Well, I guess—but I sort of meant more along the lines of shoplifting. Robbing a bank. Becoming a jewel thief.”_

_“You’re such an idiot.” Castiel laughs._

_“Yeah, I’ve heard that one before.”_

_“Been in love.” Castiel says. Dean looks uncertain before drinking. Castiel follows suit._

_“Well?” The angel raises his eyebrows at Dean._

_“Well, what?”_

_“Who?”_

_“I’m not telling.” Dean laughs. “What about you?”_

_“If you’re not telling, I’m not.” Castiel chuckles._

_“Fair enough. Gotten in a fight.”_

_Both of them drink._

_“Been with a girl.”_

_Both of them drink._

_“Fucked a girl.”_

_Both drink._

_“Had a one night stand.”_

_Only Dean drinks._

_“You’ve never had a one nighter?” He raises his eyebrows at Castiel._

_“I don’t like to call them that.” Castiel shrugs._

_“Fuck, you really_ are _a hippy.”_

_Castiel chuckles and rolls his eyes._

_“Been in hospital.”_

_Dean drinks._

_“What happened?” Castiel raises his eyebrows at Dean._

_“Long story.” Dean shrugs._

_“Been in a long-term relationship.”_

_Neither of them drink._

_“Wow, we’re seriously fucked up, aren’t we?” Dean laughs._

_“We are.” Castiel agrees. “Why haven’t_ you _been in a long term relationship?”_

_“I dunno.” Dean shakes his head. “Well, it depends what you define as long term.”_

_“Not this again.” Castiel laughs. “Longer than three months, let’s say.”_

_“Ooh,” Dean winces, sucking air through his teeth. “I’ve had one pretty close to the three month boundary.”_

_“What happened?”_

_“A good thing.”_

_“Which was?”_

_“Me getting out.”_

_Castiel decides not to press._

_“Had sex in public.”_

_Dean drinks._

_“Ew,” Castiel wrinkles his nose. “Why?”_

_“’Cause I’m fucking irresistible and they could see it.” Dean laughs. Castiel rolls his eyes._

_“You’re more confident when you’re drunk.”_

_“I’m more confident when I’m not around you.”_

_“What does that mean?” Castiel frowns._

_“You make me really nervous.”_

_“Oh.” The angel’s face lines with something difficult to pinpoint. “I’m sorry.”_

_“Not your fault, man.” Dean shrugs. “My problem.”_

_“No,” Castiel shakes his head. “Mine, too. I’ve been a dick to you.”_

_“You haven’t.” Dean frowns. “You’ve just been wary.”_

_Castiel sighs._

_“Well, I’m going to stop.”_

_“You already have, to be honest.”_

_“I want you to feel comfortable around me.”_

_“It’ll be hard to unless I’m drunk, in all honesty.”_

_“Why’s that?”_

_“Because,” Dean sighs, “of my irreparable crush.”_

_“Oh.” Castiel says, simply._

_“Yeah,” Dean rubs his face. “Oh.”_

_“Kissed Castiel Novak.” Castiel says. Dean frowns and looks up._

_“What?”_

_“Have you ever kissed Castiel Novak?”_

_“No.” Dean shakes his head, looking thoroughly confused._

_“Me neither.” Castiel replies, laughing. “I guess neither of us can drink to that.”_

_“I guess not.” Dean deadpans._

_“Would you like to?”_

_“What?” Dean looks back up at Castiel._

_“Kiss Castiel Novak.” Castiel giggles._

_“Um—” Dean sputters. “—You—”_

_Castiel leans closer. Brushes his nose across Dean’s._

_“Would you like to?”_

_The human’s breath seems to have caught in his throat._

_“Yeah.” Dean nods. “Yeah, please.”_

_Castiel beams. Dean’s eyes are wide and almost afraid, and the angel leans close and presses his lips to Dean’s. His fingers move to card softly through Dean’s hair. Their mouths mould together and Dean makes a startled little sound at the back of his throat; perfect and charming and everything that Castiel could possibly hear to make him want_ more, _more of the human and more of his touches. He parts Dean’s mouth with his tongue, presses himself inside; and Dean stutters a groan again, his hands sliding up to grip at Castiel’s shoulders._

_Eventually, the angel pulls back, catching Dean’s bottom lip in his mouth and sucking slightly, as he does so; earning him a whimper from Dean’s mouth._

_“You’re a damn good kisser.” Dean croaks into the night air, his voice rough and breathless._

_“Thank you,” Castiel smiles smugly. “You’re pretty good, yourself.”_

_“I’m normally better.” Dean straightens up a little. “I just—this time I was sort of taken aback.”_

_“Another time.” Castiel laughs. He hands Dean the bottle. Dean frowns questioningly. “Drink.” Castiel says. “I said ‘kissed Castiel Novak’; and now you’ve kissed him. You have to drink.”_

_“Oh—” Dean practically giggles, taking the bottle from Castiel’s hands. “—I have, now, haven’t I?”_

_Castiel laughs as Dean takes a swig from the bottle before placing it inbetween the two of them again._

_“Kissed Dean Winchester.” Dean says, grinning._

_Castiel smiles wolfishly and picks up the bottle, taking a drink from it and placing it down._

_“Killed someone.” Castiel grins. Dean laughs and rolls his eyes._

_“Nope.”_

_“Me neither.”_

_“That’s reassuring.”_

_“I’m glad that you think so.”_

_“Eaten someone out.”_

_Both drink._

_“Had someone walk in on you while you’re hooking up with someone.”_

_Both drink._

_“Who?” Castiel laughs._

_“My brother.” Dean grins._

_“I bet he has to put up with a lot.”_

_“He does.” Dean chuckles. “Okay, had your_ roommate _walk in on you while you’re hooking up with someone.”_

_Castiel drinks._

_“Seriously?” Dean grins. “Who was it?”_

_“Some girl from a party.” Castiel shrugs. “We’d just been going for a casual thing; Ezekiel walks in, is naturally super embarrassed and annoyed, I get my head bitten off the next opportunity he gets.”_

_“I imagine he gave you quite a telling off.”_

_“He did.” Castiel hums, grinning._

_“Have you learnt your lesson?”_

_“Only time will tell.”_

_Dean laughs and rolls his eyes, lying back on the grass. Castiel follows suit, picking up the bottle, which had been sitting inbetween the two of them, so that he can lie close enough to Dean that their sides are touching._

_“Full moon.” Dean hums, staring upwards. Castiel smiles gently and rests the back of his head on his right hand._

_“It is.” He nods. “Better watch out for werewolves.”_

_“Dude,” Dean laughs. “Shut up.”_

_“Are you scared, Dean?” Castiel laughs. “Wow, I never took you as the type to actually_ believe—”

_“Cas—!” Dean laughs, rolling his head back._

_“It’s okay, you know. I’ll protect you, if needs be.” Castiel grins, leaning closer to Dean._

_“You’d do that?”_

_“Of course I would!”_

_“I’d do it for you, too.”_

_“That’s adorable. You’d be too scared.”_

_“Cas, I’m not afraid of werewolves.”_

_“Really? Because you could’ve fooled me.”_

_Dean sighs, still laughing, and elbows Castiel._

_“What_ are _you scared of, then?” Castiel asks._

_“Hm,” Dean hums. “A lot of things, I guess.”_

_“Like what?”_

_“Making a fool out of myself in front of you.” Dean laughs._

_“You’ve already done that on countless occasions, so I wouldn’t worry about that one too much.”_

_“You’re a dick.”_

_“I know.” Castiel laughs. “What else?”_

_“I don’t know—I think I’d die if anything happened to Sammy.”_

_“Your younger brother?”_

_“Yeah.” Dean nods._

_“I feel the same about my sister.”_

_“Rachel?”_

_“Yes.” Castiel confirms. “She’s everything to me.”_

_“I get it.” Dean nods. “Same with Sammy.”_

_“I bet you’re a great big brother.”_

_“I bet you are, too.”_

_“Thanks.”_

_“What else are you scared of?”_

_“Oh, fuck,” Castiel sighs. “I don’t know. A lot.”_

_“But you always act so brave.” Dean frowns._

_“Doesn’t mean I’m not afraid of shit.”_

_“So what, exactly?” Dean asks._

You, _Castiel thinks._ My feelings for you.

_“I don’t know.” He shrugs. Lies. “Werewolves.” He grins._

_“Fuck off.” Dean laughs, elbowing Castiel softly. “You’re the worst person to get deep with.”_

_“Why’s that?”_

_“Because you just end up making me laugh.”_

_“Well, you make me laugh, too.” Castiel replies._

_“I guess we’re a good match.” Dean says, absently. Castiel turns to face him._

_“I guess we are.” He nods. His eyes crinkle at their corners._

_There is silence for a moment. Castiel wants to kiss Dean again. He wants to kiss every part of Dean’s body; he wants to unravel him and calm him and feel the human coming softly undone in his arms: he wants to hear Dean’s secrets and tell him all of his own; but he_ can’t, he really can’t, _because—_

_“I should be getting back.” Dean croaks. Castiel sighs._

_“Yeah,” He nods, following Dean’s example and sitting up, sighing as he does so. “Okay.”_

_Dean stands, taking the bottle with him, and leaves, stumbling slightly._

_“Are you alright for getting back?” Castiel calls after him._

_“Yeah,” Dean calls over his shoulder. “I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.”_

_“I’ll see you around, then.”_

_“I guess you will.”_

_Castiel exhales softly and closes his eyes before standing up and making his way back into his own building._

_He wishes he’d kissed Dean again. He wishes he’d told Dean how he feels. He wishes Dean would have stayed._

_…_

 

There comes a nervous knock at the door.

“Cas?” Comes Dean’s cautious voice; cracked with worry and exhaustion.

“Yes, Dean?” Castiel answers, looking up. His heart is aching.

“I just—” Dean sighs from behind the closed door. “I wanted to say that I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay.” Castiel replies. “I’m sorry, too.”

Castiel hears Dean sigh again.

“Are you okay?” He asks.

“Um—” Dean stammers. “Just tired. How was your sleep?”

“I couldn’t.” Castiel answers.

“Figures.”

“I’ve been looking through the photographs.”

“Anything come to you?” Dean asks. He sounds exhausted. As though hope is too tiring a thing to continue forcing, simply for the sake of being able to carry on. As though he’s merely asking out of politeness; that he no longer believes Castiel will remember _anything_ about him.

“Yes,” Castiel nods. “That night we kissed?”

“When you were drunk?”

“I wasn’t all that drunk.” Castiel replies, honestly. He hears Dean snort from the other side of the door.

“I don’t think you’d’ve done it at all if you hadn’t been drunk, Cas.”

“What makes you say that?” Castiel frowns, getting up off the bed.

“I don’t know.” Dean groans. “My tendency for self-deprecation.”

“Well, I wish you wouldn’t.”

Dean simply sighs again.

“I was in love with you, that night, you know.” Castiel says.

“What?”

“I was in love with you.” Castiel repeats. “I was just too scared to say.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Castiel laughs. “I can remember.”

“Maybe you’re remembering wrong.”

“I doubt it.” Castiel replies. He opens the door to see Dean slumped on the floor outside their room, leaning against the space of wall beside the door. The human looks up at Castiel.

“I’m sorry.” He repeats. “This isn’t fair. None of this is fair.”

“Yes,” Castiel admits. “But it’s not fair on you, either.”

Dean sighs, closes his eyes when Castiel crouches down to cup Dean’s jaw with his hand.

“And life’s not fair.” Castiel shrugs, lips twitching upwards. “We just have to make the best of what we’ve got.”

A smile dances across Dean’s lips.

“You thought I was a hippy.” Castiel chuckles.

“You _were_ a hippy.” Dean laughs. “Still _are.”_

Castiel brushes his lips against Dean’s.

“As soon as you left, I wished I’d kissed you again.” He mumbles against Dean’s mouth.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Castiel nods. “I’d wished you’d stayed; that I’d told you how I really felt; that I’d done something more. Something to make you stay.”

“I was just scared, Cas.” Dean shrugs. “I get scared a lot.”

“Me too.” Castiel replies. He nudges Dean’s nose. Dean smiles at the gesture.

“I love you.” He sighs.

“Still?” Castiel asks, his voice cracking.

“Always.” Dean replies.

Castiel beams and brushes his thumb across Dean’s cheek.

“I wish I could remember everything.”

“Me too.” Dean replies, honestly.

“None of this is fair.” Castiel sighs.

“No,” Dean agrees, shaking his head. “But like you said; we’ve got to make the best of it, right?”

“Right.” Castiel smiles.

He’s desperately falling in love with the human, again. Dean Winchester; who loves cars and old music and cooking and his younger brother and his adoptive parents and his dead parents, and _Castiel, still;_ has stolen the Angel’s heart, once more.

 


	12. First Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Fuck!” He hisses through his teeth, pacing lividly up and down the deserted corridor outside his dorm.
> 
> Except it isn’t deserted.
> 
> Dean is stood there, banging his head against a wall and groaning loudly, muttering what sounds an awful lot like a slurred litany of profanities to himself. Castiel’s vision clears.

Dean slides into the bed silently, that night. Castiel shifts closer and wraps his arms around the human’s body, pressing Dean’s head into his chest. Dean sighs at the touch.

“I never thought it’d be this hard.” He admits, brokenly.

“Me neither.” Castiel replies honestly. “But we have each other. And we’ll be okay.”

“I sure hope so.”

Castiel sighs and closes his eyes. He shifts his wing over Dean’s body, feels the human relax against him.

“If I didn’t know any better,” Dean mumbles, “I’d think you could remember how much I like having you wrapped around me.”

Castiel chuckles softly.

“I had a memory,” He laughs. “And recalled how much you like it.”

Dean exhales softly and loosens in Castiel’s arms.

“I love you.” Dean mumbles. Castiel squeezes his body tightly. The angel’s eyes flicker closed.

_“Castiel, what the_ fuck _is your problem?!” Ezekiel exclaims, hitting his roommate on the arm._

_“Ow!” Castiel exclaims. “What was that for?! And what are you talking about?!”_

“You!” _Ezekiel hits Castiel, once more. “—Being a dick to Dean!”_

_“How am I—”_

_“Haven’t you seen how uncomfortable you make him?!” Ezekiel glares at Castiel. “Didn’t you see him_ just now?! _There’s a reason he excused himself, Castiel, and it’s because of you—”_

_“You don’t understand—”_

_“No, I_ do _.” Ezekiel’s face hardens. “A human likes you. Boo-fucking-hoo. How on earth will you ever cope, why you, why is your life so fucking hard, what can you possibly do to continue existing, etcetera, etcetera. I don’t know, Castiel, maybe you could grow the fuck up? How about that for a crazy fucking suggestion?!”_

 _“Fuck_ off, _Ezekiel!” Castiel exclaims, pushing his roommate away._

 _“No!” Ezekiel shouts, batting Castiel again. “You’re ruining_ my _friendship with Dean, and all because you can’t get over the fact that he’s a_ nice fucking person, _who also_ happens _to be a human, and that he has a crush on you!”_

_“I’m not ruining anything!”_

_“Things were awkward today, Cassie! Really fucking awkward! Dean said that he came round last night, by the way—what the fuck did you_ do _to him to make him regress that far, again?!”_

_“Nothing!” Castiel shouts._

_“Well it sure as fuck doesn’t_ look _like nothing! I thought you and Dean were on okay terms after you took him to that protest, but apparently I was wrong—”_

_Castiel shoves Ezekiel again, gets up, his vision blurred with red, and makes his way over to the door._

_“Where the fuck are you going?!” Ezekiel shouts. The angel turns and glares at him._

_“How about none of your fucking business?” He bites, swinging the door open and slamming it behind him._

“Fuck!” _He hisses through his teeth, pacing lividly up and down the deserted corridor outside his dorm._

_Except it isn’t deserted._

_Dean is stood there, banging his head against a wall and groaning loudly, muttering what sounds an awful lot like a slurred litany of profanities to himself. Castiel’s vision clears. The red disappears. His heart tugs inside of his chest. Twitches, pulls, pangs. His lips twitch upwards into an affectionate smile. More than affectionate. He feels warmth uncurl throughout his body, forcing him to take a step forward._

_“You fucking_ idiot—” _He hears Dean hiss, particularly loudly, his eyes pressed tightly shut as he punctuates each of his words with another whack of his head against the wall._

_“Dean—” Castiel croaks, gazing at the human._

_Dean scarce jumps out of his skin in fright, jolting away from the wall and straightening up, his face turning another heated shade of maroon._

_“Cas—” Dean stammers. His eyes are wide, terrified, mortified. “—I—”_

_Castiel doesn’t give Dean the time to finish his sentence. He paces towards the human, closing the gap between them in mere seconds of determined striding; and frames Dean’s jaw in his hands, pulling the human towards him and kissing him, hard. Dean makes a surprised noise at the back of his throat, before relaxing into Castiel’s arms, his body going limp, tranquil against the angel’s. He makes another noise—this time, one of approval, and opens his mouth when Castiel presses his tongue to Dean’s lips. Castiel’s hand moves into Dean’s hair, Dean’s fingers curling into Castiel’s shirt, slowly._

_Castiel pulls back, gasping, beaming, to see Dean’s face still flushed, his lips swollen and pink; but lifted up into what Castiel can only describe as the most endearingly bashful grin he’s ever witnessed._

_“I, uh—” Castiel stammers. “—I was wondering if you’d ever want to get coffee. Or dinner. Or watch a movie. But, uh—like a date. A date, with me.”_

_“A date?” Dean repeats, still grinning._

_“A date.” Castiel nods. He feels his face heat._

_“Yeah,” Dean confirms, beaming. “I’d love that.”_

The memory shifts; changes, and suddenly Castiel is in a diner, in a corner booth, with Dean sat opposite him.

_“So,” Dean worries at his lip._

_“So…” Castiel repeats._

Fuck _, this is awkward._

_“You probably didn’t mean to say that out loud, huh?” Dean asks, amusement tugging at his voice, his lips dancing upwards._

_“I said it out loud?” Castiel asks, his face flushing._

_“Yeah.” Dean nods, grinning as he shakes his head, staring at the table instead of Castiel. He pushes at some spilled salt granules on the table with the pad of his forefinger, his face red._

_“I’m sorry—”_

_“Eh, it’s fine.” Dean shrugs. “I was thinking it, too.”_

_“You were?” Castiel asks, his heart sinking._

_“You look worried.” The human observes._

_“Is it bad that I am?” Castiel frowns. “You just said you thought it was awkward.”_

_“You said it first, Cas.” Dean laughs. “And anyway, don’t worry about it. I’ve has some truly shitty dates, so a couple of awkward silences come nowhere near.”_

_“Really?” Castiel raises his eyebrows. “I bet you anything I’ve had worse.”_

_“I doubt it.” Dean shakes his head._

_“One time, I went on a date with someone who spent the entire time talking about Gossip Girl. Like, the whole time.”_

_“The TV show?” Dean raises his eyebrows._

_“Yeah.” Castiel nods._

_“Have you ever watched it?”_

_“Never ever.” Castiel shakes his head. “And then they thought it was a good time to start re-enacting their A Capella band’s best covers, only in the form of a solo.”_

_“And this was in public?” Dean raises his eyebrows._

_“Painfully public.” Castiel winces at the memory. Dean laughs, rubbing his jaw. “In front of an entire restaurant.”_

_“Okay, that’s pretty shit—”_

_“No, it gets worse.” Castiel shakes his head. “Then,_ I _had to pay.”_

_Dean snorts._

_“Wow, Cas, way to overreact.”_

_“You think I’m overreacting?” Castiel scoffs._

_“So badly.” Dean shakes his head. “It’s like you’re a freakin’ child.”_

_“So you have something better lined up?” Castiel raises his eyebrows._

_“If by better, you mean a billion times worse, then yeah.” Dean nods. “I’ve seen_ way _worse.”_

_“Go on, then.”_

_“Okay, so bear in mind that this is my first date,_ ever, _and that I’m kind of a nervous person in general—so yeah, this guy invited me to the movies and dinner beforehand.”_

 _“That sounds_ nice, _Dean.”_

_“Wait, wait, I haven’t finished yet. So this guy took me to a freakin’ gas station for dinner—”_

“No.”

_“Yes.” Dean grins, laughing._

_“Fuck.”_

_“That’s not all.” Dean shakes his head. “So, then, he buys beef jerky. Just, lots and lots of it. It was really fucking weird. And I don’t really want anything, ‘cause I’ve kind of lost my appetite by this point, ‘cause I’m kind of disgusted and confused—”_

_“—Understandable.”_

_“Right? And I’m also a bit creeped out by the guy, but I decide to overlook it, thinking ‘hey, maybe he’s just a bit odd’. But I can deal with odd. I pride myself on being able to deal with odd. So I stay.”_

_Castiel can’t stop himself laughing. Dean looks delighted._

_“And then he takes me to the movie. Except he really pointedly makes me pay for my own ticket—which I normally wouldn’t mind—but he was seriously passive aggressive about the whole thing, you know?”_

_“What a dick.”_

_“Yeah, absolute asshole. Anyway throughout the whole film he’s talking through the dialogue; telling me that my plans for the future are shit, that my life’s gonna be a downward spiral if I carry on on that trajectory—_ and _he kept on tryin’ to cop a feel. Of my crotch. Like, what the hell.”_

_“Woah.” Castiel frowns._

_“I’m not even done.”_

_“There_ can’t _be more.”_

_“There really is.” Dean rolls his eyes. “Fuck, it was such a bad date.”_

_“It sounds as though it was.” Castiel hums. “What else happened?”_

_“Then, he asks me if I’d go give him head in the men’s bathroom.”_

_“He didn’t.” Castiel’s eyes widen._

_“He did.” Dean replies. “He asked for a blowjob. Mid-movie. In the men’s bathroom.”_

_“Fuck.”_

_“Yeah, I know.” Dean shakes his head. “Anyway, I’m like, ‘ew, what the fuck?’; and he goes, ‘alright, what about_ after _the movie?’”_

_“Seriously?”_

_“Seriously.” Dean confirms. “So I tell him no, again, and he’s like; ‘well, there’s no point in me staying then, is there?’ and leaves. In the middle of the movie. All ‘cause I won’t suck his dick in the cubicle of a public restroom.”_

_“Bastard.” Castiel laughs._

_“Absolutely.” Dean agrees. “So, I win?”_

_“You win.” Castiel concedes, chuckling. “Without a doubt.”_

_Dean beams triumphantly._

_“And that’s probably not even my worst.”_

_“No way.”_

_“Yes, way.” Dean shakes his head. “And see, things aren’t so awkward anymore, are they?” The human smiles. “We’ve found something to talk about. Broken the ice.”_

_Castiel’s eyes crinkle at their corners._

_“I guess you’re right.” He nods._

_“Damn straight I am.” Dean grins. “So, Cas—and don’t pull a face, ‘cause you must have expected me to ask this, at some point—what the fuck happened on that corridor, outside your room? What was that all about? And what made you want to ask me out?”_

_Castiel groans and rubs his face. Dean barks out a laugh—but thankfully, a waitress arrives and asks to take their order. Both of them get a burger, fries and a milkshake. When she leaves, Dean is still grinning._

_“Go on.” He smirks._

_“Ah, fuck.” Castiel sighs. “I was kind of hoping you’d have forgotten.”_

_“I’m not_ that _easily distracted by food, Cas.” Dean laughs. “Come on, give me at least_ some _credit.”_

_“Alright,” Castiel groans, his wings twitching as he grows slightly uncomfortable. “I’ve liked you for a while, now. That’s the honest answer—and the simplest one. I’ve liked you for a long while; and I’ve tried to deny it ‘cause you’re a human, and I’ve tried to make peace with it ‘cause you’re a nice one—well, you’re more than that. And I tried to ignore it, hoping it would go away; but the problem is, Dean, every time you blushed that deep red or stammered out an awkward response, I’d be reminded of the fact that you so clearly liked me, and I’d be forced to acknowledge that that fact overjoyed me. It was fucking awful.”_

_Dean laughs, his cheeks pink._

_“And then, acknowledging that it overjoyed me meant acknowledging that I liked you too. A lot.” Castiel sighs._

_“That must have sucked a lot for you.”_

_“Piss off.” Castiel rolls his eyes at Dean’s teasing smirk. “Anyway, the point is, me asking you out wasn’t a sudden, chance thing. It wasn’t after forethought and planning, sure, but it wasn’t something I did on a whim. I’ve liked you—a lot—for a while.”_

_“How long, exactly?” Dean grins. “And how much?”_

_“I’m not gonna answer that.” Castiel laughs._

_“That’s not fair!”_

_“How does that follow?” The angel frowns._

_“Well, you know pretty fucking clearly, apparently, that I’ve liked you since day one.”_

_“That’s not my fault.” Castiel shrugs. “You just made it painfully obvious.”_

_“You’re a dick.” Dean rolls his eyes, laughing._

_“You’re much less shy when you’re on a date.”_

_“Well, first of all, that was uncalled for.”_

_“It was an observation.”_

_“And second of all,” Dean pulls a mock exasperated face, ignoring Castiel’s comment, “now that I know that you like me, too, I can relax a little.”_

_“I think I like it when you’re relaxed.”_

_“Yeah?”_

_“Yeah. I like that you’re comfortable around me, now.” Castiel smiles. “You are comfortable, right?” He frowns suddenly._

_“Very.” Dean laughs, his expression softening. “That and the fact that I’m in a diner. I really come into my own when food is involved.”_

_“God, you’re such a dork.” Castiel bursts out laughing._

_“But you_ like _like me, Castiel.” Dean beams. “So it doesn’t matter how dorky I act.”_

_“True. But only because I find it so very endearing when you’re awkward.”_

_“So the jokes on me, huh?”_

_“Pretty much.”_

_Their food arrives._

_“You still haven’t really answered my question, you know.”_

_“I haven’t?”_

_“Why did you just come up to me and kiss me? Why the sudden change of heart?”_

_“I suppose you could say that Ezekiel unknowingly gave me a push in the right direction.”_

_“Unknowingly?”_

_“That’s right.” Castiel confirms. “And I kind of explained, right after, didn’t I? I wished that I’d kissed you again, last night, I wished that I’d asked you to stay, I wished I’d told you how I felt, right then and there—but even drunk me was too scared to do it.”_

_“And how_ do _you feel?” Dean grins._

_Castiel groans again and rubs his face._

_“Are you just asking me this simply so you can watch me kick myself internally?”_

_“It’s for a whole bucketload of reasons, Cas. Let’s not limit it by just assigning it just_ one.”

_“Well, I’ve already answered one question that made me uncomfortable. Now you have to do the same.”_

_“I thought you liked seeing me feeling more comfortable around you?”_

_“Give a little, take a little, Dean.”_

_“Fuck’s sake.” Dean rolls his eyes, laughing. “Alright, what’s your question?”_

_“Why on earth were you banging your head against the wall—especially so violently—when I came out onto the corridor?”_

_“Isn’t it obvious?” Dean laughs._

_“No.” Castiel frowns. “No even moderately so.”_

_“I was kicking myself; ‘cause I thought I’d fucked up the sort-of-friendship that we’d had going; I thought you regretted us kissing; I kept on telling myself that I’d made a mistake—several, in fact—that I should have done something_ more—”

“I _kissed_ you.” _Castiel frowns. “Why would you be berating yourself for that?”_

_“Cas, I blame myself for everything.” Dean laughs, rubbing his jaw, his expression and voice droll and self-deprecating._

_“I’ve noticed.” Castiel frowns._

_“You do the same.” Dean states._

_“No,” Castiel shakes his head. “I take_ responsibility _for everything.”_

_“Sounds the same to me.”_

_“Maybe we’re more similar than either of us realised.”_

_“Maybe.” Dean hums, smiling._

_Castiel’s knee brushes against Dean’s underneath the table. Dean is staring at his burger, beaming at Castiel’s touch. His eyes flick up to meet with Castiel’s, and the flush returns to his cheeks._

_“I’ve never met anyone who blushes quite as lovely as you.” Castiel feels his heart soften. Dean flushes further._

_“You saying that only makes it worse, you know.”_

_“I’ve noticed.” Castiel hums. “But it’s true. It’s quite charming.”_

_“I’m glad you find my embarrassment so endearing.” Dean rolls his eyes. Castiel catches Dean’s hand in his own without thinking, and the human freezes, swallowing hard as he looks up to stare, intently, at Castiel again._

_“Very endearing.” Castiel feels himself smile. Dean’s ears have turned pink. “How do you think Ezekiel will deal with the two of us dating?” He asks. Dean’s flush turns into a soft smirk._

_“Wow, I have no idea.” He chuckles. “You really think he had no idea that you liked me?”_

_“None at all.” Castiel shakes his head. “He knew about your crush on me, certainly, but then it was sort of hard_ not to—”

_“Cas,” Dean groans. Castiel laughs and squeezes the human’s hand._

_“You’re perfect.” He chuckles._

_“—I’m not—” Dean stammers._

_“You are.” Castiel shakes his head. “And maybe that’s bad of me to say, on our first date. But you are.”_

_“Bad?”_

_“Too forward.”_

_“I’m fine with you being forward.” Dean croaks._

_“Well then,” Castiel laughs, “you’re perfect.”_

_“No, you.” Dean grins bashfully, shaking his head._

_“You’re going to have to come round to our dorm a lot more often, I can tell.” Castiel grins._

_“Is that you saying that we’re gonna be going on a lot of other dates, now?”_

_“It definitely is.” Castiel beams. “That is, if_ you _want to, as well.”_

_“Of course I want to, Cas.” Dean face is just as joyful as it is red._

_“Brilliant.” Castiel hums happily. “So you’re saying it’s going well?”_

_“Of course it’s going well.” Dean laughs. “You think so too, right?” He raises his eyebrows at Castiel._

_“I think it’s going just great, Dean.”_

_“That’s a relief.”_

_Castiel chuckles softly and squeezes Dean’s fingers._

_“So,” He hums, “you’ll be coming round to mine a lot more, then?”_

_“I will.” Dean confirms. “And you could come round to mine.” He laughs. “I mean, if you wanted to—”_

_“Of course I’d like to.” Castiel chuckles._

_“Oh,” Dean smiles, relieved. “Good.”_

_“Good.” Castiel agrees, humming the word lightly. His eyes crinkle at their corners. “I look forward to it.”_

Castiel wakes to find Dean’s jade eyes already open.

“Hey,” The human greets, his voice rough and warm with sleep.

“Hello.” Castiel smiles.

“You look happy.” The human observes, his eyes crinkling at their corners. He moves his hand to brush his fingers softly through Castiel’s hair.

“I _feel_ happy.” Castiel laughs, honestly.

“That’s good.” Dean beams.

“You’re not going to ask me why?”

“Sorry,” Dean chuckles. “Why?”

“I had another two memories.”

“While you slept?”

“Yep.” Castiel nods.

“What memories?”

“The time I kissed you, outside my room.”

“On the corridor?”

“Yes.” Castiel nods. “That time I stormed out.”

Dean’s smile widens.

“And then our first date.”

“All of it?” Dean raises his eyebrows.

“Just part of it, I think.” Castiel frowns. “I can’t actually remember it ending, so.”

“Oh,” Dean nods, reassured.

“Why?” Castiel’s face lines slightly. “What else happened?”

Dean looks down, face red.

“Just—stuff.”

“Oh.” Castiel says. His lips twitch upwards. “Well, I’m sorry I missed out on that.” He finds himself smirking.

Dean’s gaze shoots back up to Castiel’s face. He flushes. He sputters slightly. Castiel simply laughs and presses a gentle kiss to the tip of Dean’s nose before swinging his legs over the side of their bed and getting up.


	13. Fight

 

_“Shit.” Dean mutters, swallowing thickly as Castiel laces kisses down his neck._

_“Shit, indeed.” Castiel repeats, chuckling softly as Dean’s hands move to fist at the angel’s hair. “All joking aside, how would you feel about me giving you your first blowjob?”_

_Castiel doesn’t miss the way that Dean’s breath catches in the human’s throat, at that. Or the way that Dean’s pupils dilate, his eyes wide as he stares back, lost, at Castiel._

_“I—” Dean’s voice is raw. The flush has returned to his cheeks, and Castiel notes the way in which it creeps down his neck, the way he is close enough to be able to count each of Dean’s freckles, the way they stand out even more against Dean’s pink skin. “Yeah.” Dean nods, exhaling. “Yes, please.”_

_Castiel’s lips twitch upwards. He finds it an odd combination of amusing, endearing and really quite fucking arousing that Dean has placed a plea at the end of his sentence._

_“Alright, then.” Castiel nods softly. “Ezekiel won’t be back for a while. We’ve got time to kill.”_

_And they do. This thought has Dean shuddering against Castiel; and the trembling continues as Castiel palms at Dean, feeling the human’s hardness through his all-too-tight jeans._

_“Oh, fuck—” Dean groans at the physical contact; particularly at this oversensitive part of his body, and Castiel watches in awe as the human’s eyelashes flutter, each of his soft, laboured breaths catching in his throat._

_“I’m so glad I asked you out.” Castiel chuckles, grazing his nose gently against Dean’s. The human immediately—and rather unsurprisingly—flushes, the pink hue tinging his cheeks the most endearing shade of bashful Castiel thinks he has ever encountered, and nudges back at Castiel’s nose._

_“I’m glad you did, too.” He laughs. “I sure as fuck wouldn’t have been able to ask you.”_

_“You were rather shy around me.” Castiel admits, his lips twitching upwards._

_Dean blushes, his face a wonderful pink, and Castiel feels the laughter tumbling from his lips before he has time to seal them to Dean’s neck, again. Dean groans, the sound low and guttural, rumbling underneath Castiel’s mouth as he peppers Dean’s skin with kisses._

_“I’ve wanted to do this for a long time.” He admits, sighing as he pauses to press his forehead against the joint between Dean’s neck and his shoulder._

_“I’ve wanted you to do it for a long time.” Dean confesses, laughing breathily beneath Castiel. The angel glances up, his lips twitching upwards, to gaze into Dean’s lovely, lust blown eyes._

_“I wish I’d kissed you sooner.”_

_“If the task were left to me, I probably_ never _would have achieved it.” Dean laughs. Castiel snorts softly._

_“True,” He hums, framing Dean’s jaw in his hands and tilting the human’s head up gently. He scatters kisses across the underside of Dean’s jaw, revelling in the way the human shakes beneath him._

_“So, what do you say,” Castiel says, pulling back suddenly, earning him a startled whine from Dean’s lips, “do you want me to be the first guy to suck your dick?”_

_Dean reddens furiously. Something pleased and smug coils happily in Castiel’s heart at the sight._

_“Yes, please.” He nods meekly._

_“I think I quite like the effect I seem to have on you.” Castiel hums, his lips twitching upwards. Dean looks up at Castiel through his thick brown eyelashes and blushes again. “Yes,” Castiel smiles, brushing his nose against Dean’s, “I like it a lot.”_

_He resumes in kissing down the side of Dean’s neck, grazing his lips down the human’s flesh, adoring every inch of it, before—_

The sound of Dean opening the front door of their home has Castiel dragged from his memory and reddening furiously. He crosses awkwardly from the bedroom into the bathroom and closes the door, locking it and sliding down onto the cool tiled surface of the floor, before Dean will even have had time to take off his shoes and jacket.

“Cas?” He hears Dean call from downstairs. Castiel presses his head back against the wood of the door and exhales softly. Something in the human’s voice has been increasingly setting warmth coursing along Castiel’s veins, and he feels it prickling at his skin, more distracting than ever, now.

“I’m upstairs.” He calls back, listening as Dean treads through to the kitchen and pours himself a glass of water. “In the bathroom.”

“You okay?”

“Fine.” Castiel replies, raising his voice to be heard through both the wood of the door and from where Dean is, downstairs.

Dean doesn’t reply, apparently satisfied that Castiel is alright, and the angel crosses his legs beneath him as he reflects his memories of the day.

Most of them were not of Dean—something which oddly has Castiel feeling slightly disappointed—but his most recent one, the one Dean dragged him from before Castiel was able to recall anything more, has set an excited burning sensation thrumming through Castiel’s frame. The angel sighs and attempts to ignore it.

He recalled his sister’s fifteenth birthday, earlier. How the two of them had sat on the floor of the children’s home, opposite one another, sharing the cake which Castiel had made for his sister. Castiel smiles at the memory now—at how happy Rachel had seemed with even the simplest of things—and how their lives appear to have transformed, since then, into things neither of them would have ever dreamed of.

Before, Castiel had found the fact that he had married a human abhorrent. Now, the thought—whilst still very odd—is nowhere near as abominable as it had once seemed. Castiel muses softly that this is probably because he has come to know Dean; has come to know how kind and amusing and endearing this particular human is—so unlike all of Castiel’s impressions of humanity. Castiel pulls his legs up to his chest and rests his chin on his knees. He wonders how much Dean researched on the topic of social justice in his desperate attempts to impress Castiel. He finds himself smiling at the thought.

There comes a gentle rap at the door, Castiel starts slightly at the sound.

“You in there?” Dean calls from the other side of the wooden frame. Castiel exhales softly and presses his head back against the door.

“Yes,” He replies.

“You okay?”

“I just felt a little giddy.” Castiel lies. “I’m fine now.”

“Are you sure?” Dean’s voice rings subtly with concern, and something extremely pleased that Dean should care pulses through Castiel’s veins at the sound.

“Yes,” He smiles. “I’m fine.”

To prove his point, Castiel stands and opens the door, to find Dean waiting on the other side of it.

“Hello, Dean,” He greets, feeling his lips curl upwards almost unintentionally. Dean seems to find this sight delightful, because he breaks out into a beam.

“Hi, Cas.” He laughs. “You’ve had an okay day?” He asks.

“It was fine.” The angel shrugs in response. “What about yours?”

“Yeah, alright.” Dean chuckles. There’s a short silence, and the human’s face falls suddenly. “Listen, Cas—the other day when I was feeling a bit off—and I was rude to you—which I’m sorry about, by the way—”

“That’s fine.” Castiel frowns.

“—Well, no it’s not—I just,” Dean sighs. “There was something I was meant to tell you. And I didn’t, when I should’ve.”

“What do you mean?” Castiel frowns. Dean exhales and sits down on their bed.

“—Um—I got a call, on Sunday, about what happened to you. They can’t seem to find the CCTV footage of your attack, or your attacker—which is bullshit, by the way, Cas, it really is—but they’re saying that unless you can remember anything about  your attacker, or their identity, they’re gonna drop the case.”

“That’s bullshit.” Castiel frowns.

“I know.” Dean groans, rubbing his face. “And of course you’re not gonna remember your attacker’s face any time soon; and they _know_ that—and how the _fuck_ do you lose CCTV footage; and all this just makes me think that they’re trying to protect the identity of whoever did this to you, and it’s so fucked up, Cas, I know—and it’s my fault.”

This last part of Dean’s sentence sends something undoubtedly familiar sparking across Castiel’s mind. The way in which Dean said it—his tone—and the words forming on the human’s lips hold some kind of undeniable familiarity with something. Perhaps Castiel hears these words falling from Dean’s mouth rather a lot.

“Your fault?” Castiel repeats, frowning softly as he sits down on the bed, next to Dean.

“Yeah,” Dean groans. “I’m sorry, Cas, I—”

“You were the one who left me for dead in an abandoned alleyway?” Castiel asks incredulously.

“No, but—”

“Then it’s not your fault.” The angel states, simply. “So stop blaming yourself. And anyway, I’m sure I’ll remember, eventually. Or at least, I’ll _try_ to.”

Dean sighs resignedly.

“Yeah, I hope so.”

“This sucks a lot.”

“Yeah.” Dean agrees. His voice rings with exhaustion. “It really does.”

“But we’ll sort it out.”

“Yeah,” The human sighs again. “Did you remember anything, today?”

“I did,” Castiel nods, softly. Dean looks up, immediately hopeful. “I remembered my sister’s fifteenth birthday, making her a cake; us sitting on the floor of her room and .eating it together.” Dean’s lips twitch upwards as Castiel speaks. “I remembered my first day at college, meeting Ezekiel for the first time, and my nineteenth birthday.”

“That’s quite a lot.” Dean hums.

“It is.” Castiel agrees absently. His gaze flickers down to Dean’s lips. “There was something else, too.” He says, softly.

“What else?” Dean asks.

“The other part of our first date.” Castiel states, as plainly as possible. Dean looks as though he’s forgotten how to breathe. “Well, _part_ of the other part.” He corrects himself.

“Oh.” Dean says, rather ineloquently. His throat sounds raw.

“And that’s not all,” Castiel shakes his head, leaning closer towards Dean, watching the way the human’s eyes widen only marginally, huge and soft and nervous.

“Oh?” Dean’s words are barely audiable—Castiel watches as the pink hue that he finds so familiar, now, returns across Dean’s features. It makes each one of his brown freckles stand out all the more; and something about the sight has both a warmth filled with lust and one filled with affection burning brightly in Castiel’s chest.

“A few days ago—the first night I slept in this bed,” Castiel gestures, “since the accident, I mean—” He too speaks agonisingly quietly, now, and he thinks he can see the human’s pulse fluttering lightly at the juncture between his neck and his jaw, “It was when I was asleep, but—it was you and me. _Together.”_ Dean presses his lips together as Castiel speaks, mere inches away from the human’s face, his frame trembling softly. “Me fucking you—or making love to you, or whatever. But it was good. Really good.”

“Oh.” Dean says once again, his eyes blown wide by what looks like a mixture between arousal and nervousness. Castiel leans close enough so that his nose is grazing Dean’s, and watches as the human continues to tremble—something which Castiel has noted, from each of his memories, Dean does rather a  lot in situations such as this.

“Cas—” Dean’s voice croaks, and he closes his eyes and inhales deeply, as though gathering himself, steeling himself a moment, before speaking again. “—I don’t think we should do this.”

“Why not?” A frown worms its way across Castiel’s features; confused and upset and most definitely something else entirely; but before the angel can probe Dean any further, the human stands and sighs, his breathing rough and laboured.

“It’d be _wrong.”_ Dean states, staring at the floor. _“I’d_ feel wrong—I’d feel like I was _cheating—”_

“It’s _me,_ Dean,” Castiel frowns heavily in the human’s direction. “How on earth could it constitute cheating?! We’re married!”

“Yes, but you can’t _remember_ being married to me!” Dean raises his voice, still apparently finding it difficult to look at Castiel for more than a few short seconds of time. “You barely _know_ me!”

“I know you well enough!” Castiel raises his voice back. “And just because I can’t remember our wedding doesn’t mean that we’re not still married!”

“It’s not just that—!”

“Then what else is it?!”

“You’re not _you,_ Cas!” Dean shouts. “You’re not you, and I don’t know if you ever will be, again—and you don’t know me like you used to—you barely understand—and it’d just feel dishonest, okay?!” Dean rubs his face in exhaustion. “You’re not you, anymore!”

“That makes no fucking sense and you know it.” Castiel snarls in Dean’s direction.

“It definitely does—”

“Of _course_ I’m still me—” Castiel’s jaw clenches, but Dean’s sigh interrupts him, and before he can shout at the human again, tell him how very wrong he is, Dean has stalked out the room, slamming the door behind him.

“I wouldn’t expect _you_ to understand!” He hears Dean shout, an afterthought, as he storms down the stairs of the home, onto the ground floor.

 


	14. Dean's Cars

Castiel isn’t sure what it is he should do at this point. He stares at the ground for several long moments, attempting to unfurl all that occurred and was said in his interaction with Dean. He feels guilty. Guilty and upset. But he isn’t used to having to apologise to Dean—each of his attempts at apologising to the human for everything that has happened to the two of them have merely led to Dean brushing him off, carelessly, telling Castiel that it is not his fault; and after each of the disputes the two of them have got into, either Dean has been the one to apologise, or both of them have decided to ignore it, to simply move on. But this time, Castiel is certain, he must be the one to make amends.

But thinking all of this is easy enough. Actually _doing_ it is another matter entirely.

The angel groans and rubs his eyes with the heel of his palm. He’s in a devastatingly shitty situation as it is—and without Dean’s reassuring presence and comfort, he’s grotesquely unsure as to how he’s going to get by. He wonders if Dean will come back into their room, tonight—or if he will choose instead to sleep in one of the spare bedrooms. He wonders if he has ruined whatever relationship he and Dean _had._ He sincerely hopes that neither of these things will reveal themselves to be the case; and yet they are not unreasonable theories.

He sighs and leans back onto the bed, lying down, spreading his wings out beneath him. He wonders what Dean is doing at this moment in time—perhaps beating himself up over what has just happened, as seems to be his habit—a thought which sends writhing guilt twisting through Castiel’s gut—or maybe preparing dinner for the two of them, which also wouldn’t be a surprise. Dean seems to be remarkably selfless in everything he does. Perhaps he is in the garage, Castiel thinks absently, working on his cars. He vaguely recalls Dean telling him how much of a comfort he finds repairing machines to be.

Castiel exhales deeply and stands, the remorse still gnawing uncomfortably at his insides. He makes his way out of the bedroom and downstairs—finding Dean in none of the rooms in the house; and confirming his theory that Dean is in the garage. Castiel walks into the front yard and sees the deep brown of the garage door swung upwards and open. He hears clattering from inside, before a sudden crash, and a tumble of profanities from lips.

_“Shit!”_

“Dean?” Castiel frowns, stepping inside. “Are you okay?”

His eyes scan over to the corner of the room, where Dean is knelt on the floor, a toolbox that must have fallen from the shelves above Dean’s head, spilled open onto the hard floor.

“I’m fine—” Dean shakes his head, his face almost purple—he turns to have his back to Castiel, but this does nothing to discourage the angel from stepping closer, approaching the human.

He kneels down in front of Dean, who ducks his head and furiously attempts to gather up all the contents of the toolbox; cramming it, rather clumsily, back in each item’s respective place.

“Here,” Castiel says gently, brushing his hands against Dean’s and slipping the items from his grip, “let me.”

Dean’s face only reddens further, but at least he looks up at Castiel—a motion which has pain spiking along the chords of Castiel’s heart; because Dean’s face is blotchy and tear sodden and almost devastated in despair.

“Dean,” Castiel frowns, reaching his hand out to frame Dean’s face—but Dean shakes his head, his eyes welling up with still more tears.

“I’m sorry,” His voice trembles. “I was—”

“You did nothing wrong, Dean.” Castiel speaks softly, as though he is afraid of frightening Dean away, as though he genuinely believes Dean to be that delicate—and in a way, Castiel thinks, both of these things are true. “I should be the one to be apologising.”

Dean shakes his head furiously again, and attempts to continue picking up the scattered tools, but Castiel reaches gently for his hands and stops him again, picking up each item for the human, instead.

“It’s the wrong toolbox.” Dean huffs out a teary, droll and entirely unconvincing laugh. “I tried to pull it down, thinking it was the one I wanted, but then it fell on me, and it wasn’t even the right one.”

“It fell on you?” Castiel frowns. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” Dean looks down again, his face a humiliated scarlet. “—I just get really clumsy when I’m upset—it’s stupid— _I’m_ stupid—I—”

Castiel grazes his fingers through Dean’s hair and runs his thumb across the human’s cheek, effectively silencing him.

“No,” He shakes his head softly. “You’re wonderful.”

“You can’t honestly believe that.” Dean croaks out a bitter, despondent laugh, but Castiel frowns firmly and moves his hand to squeeze at Dean’s shoulder.

“Dean,” he says, his voice resolute. “I absolutely believe it. And I want you to, also.”

Dean’s squeezes his eyes shut, expelling whatever tears were forming in them onto his cheeks, and Castiel watches as they slip down the ridges of Dean’s face, wrung out from the corners of his eyes.

“I love you.” Castiel says, gently.

“You _can’t”_ Dean moans, his head dipping down again, his eyes still unopened. “And you shouldn’t. I’m _nothing,_ I’m—”

“But I do.” The angel replies, cutting Dean off. He leans forward and presses a kiss to the human’s hairline, watching as the human stills slightly at the touch of his lips. “And you’re _everything._ I cannot help myself, Dean, as much as you cannot believe it—as much as _I_ cannot believe it—as much as it goes against everything I believe in; I love you, Dean. I love you like the sea loves the shore, as trees the sky, as fire the open air.” He sighs and presses his forehead against Dean’s still downward facing one. “You are not like other humans.” He smiles softly. “You’re not like anyone I’ve ever known.”

The human swallows. Castiel watches as his Adam’s apple bobs up, then down, before Dean takes a huge breath.

“I’m sorry—” He slurs again, voice muffled by tears, but Castiel won’t allow this, and he presses his finger to Dean’s lips.

“No,” The angel shakes his head. _“I_ am. I upset you, I made you feel guilty, I pushed you into this state.” Castiel gestures to Dean, before framing Dean’s face in the palm of his hand.

“I pushed _myself—”_

Castiel silences Dean by peppering kisses up and down the ridge of the human’s nose, leaving the softest of touches for its very tip. Dean sighs at the touch, and doesn’t even object when Castiel presses his fingers tenderly under Dean’s jaw and tilts his head up, again.

“I love you.” He repeats softly, once more. Dean’s warm, watery eyes are unbelieving as they meet his own.

“You hardly know me—”

“I know you better than you think.” Castiel reminds, grazing his nose against Dean’s.

“I bet you’re only saying all of this to make me feel better.” Dean laughs, bitterly, looking down again.

“I’m saying it to make you feel better, certainly.” Castiel frowns. “But why should that detract any of its truth?”

Dean seems slightly stumped, at that, and Castiel cannot help the triumphant smile that spreads across his face as he closes the lid of the toolbox and rises softly to place it back on the shelf. He has to stand on the very tips of his toes to be able to reach the ledge, but is able to slide the box safely in its place, eventually.

“Tell me about your cars.” Castiel says, kneeling down in front of Dean again and taking the human’s hands in his own.

“You don’t really want to hear about them—”

“But I do,” Castiel frowns, “because they’re something which interests you, and therefore something which interests me. Tell me about them.”

“Um,” Dean swallows. “That one was my dad’s car.” He points over to a black vehicle, clearly old but well looked after. “He handed her down to me when he died, ‘cause I used to spend all my time just fascinated by her—it was kind of cars as a whole that fascinated me, actually—but my dad and Uncle Bobby really nurtured my love for them—they taught me all about them. Sorry,” Dean shakes his head. “I’m babbling. You probably think I’m just really boring and lame, now.”

“On the contrary,” Castiel frowns, “I’m finding everything you’re saying rather endearing. And not in the least bit boring.” Dean unsurprisingly blushes at this. “And ‘she’?” Castiel raises his eyebrows, smirking softly.

“Oh—yeah.” Dean’s face goes another shade of red darker. “I just—I’ve just always called her that—”

“It’s very endearing.” Castiel repeats, smiling widely. “Tell me more about her.”

“She’s probably my favourite.” Dean says, as Castiel leans forward to press his forehead against Dean’s. “My dad used to take me and Sammy out on late night rides around the city in her.” He smiles nostalgically. Castiel notes, somewhat relieved, that Dean seems to have relaxed considerably, as he has been speaking. Now he closes his eyes not out of devastation, but out of calm as the angel rests his forehead against Dean’s. “She’s really old—she was my dad’s first car, too. I like to keep her in good condition.”

“I can tell,” Castiel hums softly, his lips being tugged upwards. “She’s beautiful.”

Dean blushes and laughs.

“Thank you.”

“What make is she?”

“She’s a nineteen sixty-seven Chevy Impala.” Dean smiles.

“And what about the others?”

“The one next to her is a nineteen sixty-five Mustang convertible.” Dean hums.

“The red one?” Castiel asks.

“That’s him.” Dean nods.

“Him?” Castiel laughs.

“Yeah,” Dean blushes again. “The Mustang’s a guy.”

“That’s fair enough.” Castiel chuckles, grazing his nose against Dean’s. “And the other one?”

“That’s a ‘seventy-eight Lincoln Continental. Mark five.” Dean smiles. Castiel glances over to it, the pale, faded cream-gold of its colouring.

“It’s very nice.” He smiles.

“I think it’s your favourite.” Dean laughs. “You always liked its colour. I always tease you by telling you it matches all the trench coats you wear.”

Castiel chuckles softly.

“That doesn’t surprise me at all.” He hums, running his fingers gently through Dean’s hair. “So, boy or girl, do you think?”

“Probably kinda gender-neutral.” Dean’s lips twitch upwards. “Sammy calls it the pimp car.”

Castiel laughs, tipping Dean’s head up to kiss the human’s lips softly.

“That’s an amusing observation on your brother’s part.”

“He likes to piss me off.”

“As I’m sure you do, him.” Castiel smirks.

“Yeah, but only a little.” Dean laughs and tilts his head up to kiss Castiel again. It’s oddly reassuring for the angel.

He wonders absently if this was one of Dean’s ‘bad days’. If they get any worse than this. What it is that caused these moods to begin, in the first place—if it was only one event, or a culmination of several.

Not for the first time, Castiel thinks of Dean’s complexity. Of how the man is a riddle wrapped in a mystery, forged in an enigma. And Castiel is intent on figuring him out.

 


	15. Bad Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: The following chapter contains strong hints of abuse in a past relationship of Dean's. (So, not his relationship with Castiel, but one previous to that.) It also contains self-hate, and further descriptions of one of Dean's "Bad days". If you want to avoid this, they start around a third of the way in and last the rest of the chapter.

“Can I cook you dinner, tonight?” Castiel asks, after the two of them have returned to the house. Dean looks up, an emotion Castiel can’t recognise sliding across the veil behind his eyes.

“Can I cook it with you?” Dean asks. Castiel laughs.

“Only if you want to;” He smiles. “I’d thought you’d appreciate the break.”

“Oh, I would—” Dean shakes his head. “—Normally, we kind of take it in turns—but today I think I’d like to, with you—if that’s okay—”

Castiel tugs at Dean’s wrist, pulling the human closer to him and closing the gap between the two of them in only an instant before pressing his lips to Dean’s. He hums against the human’s mouth, smiling as his eyes flutter closed and his hand moves down Dean’s wrist to play gently with Dean’s fingers. He splays his own out against Dean’s palm and slots their hands together; marvelling at how well each and every facet of theirs’ fits together in such snug perfection. Dean’s other hand has made its way up the angel’s chest; cautiously, shocked, but thrilled—as seems to be the human’s habit whenever Castiel thinks to touch or kiss Dean in ways such as this.

His other hand is coiling round the human’s waist; loving how quickly it is that Dean realises that Castiel wants him _closer—_ the human presses his body flush against Castiel’s when the angel gives a gentle press onto his spine—and finally; when the two of them break apart, gasping for air as their noses press together and they each rest their forehead on the other’s, Castiel speaks.

“It’d be more than okay, Dean.”

Dean nods quickly, breathless; a winded smile spreading across his features.

“Okay.” He nods, still panting. Castiel notes absently that Dean seems to find it a little difficult to configure his thoughts into speech at the normal rate, just after being kissed. It coils something unbelievably warm and unwaveringly adoring in his chest.

“What should we make?”

“I don’t know—” Dean shakes his head. “—Food?”

Castiel snorts and nudges at Dean’s nose.

“Sorry,” Dean laughs, breathlessly. “Burgers? They’re your favourite.”

“They are,” Castiel beams. “How did you know?”

“I’ve been your husband for nearly two years, Cas.” Dean reminds, laughter rumbling low at his chest. Castiel want to curl around Dean’s body at the sound.

“That’s fair enough.” Castiel chuckles. “What about you, then? What’s _your_ favourite food?”

“I kinda like everything.” Dean grins sheepishly. “But pie, probably.”

“Pie.” Castiel beams. “I’ll have to make that for you, some time.”

Dean laughs, his face pink.

“What kind is your favourite?” The angel asks.

“Oh, fuck.” Dean laughs. “I don’t know.” He shakes his head. “My mom used to make the best apple pie _ever._ Even tasting it reminds me of her. And Ellen and Bobby do really good berry pie. But me and you always used to make cherry, together—if we ever had time to do pies, that is.”

“Then we should do that, again.”

“I’d like to.” Dean nods. “You used to be an awful baker, you know.”

“And you’re a good one?”

“Cas, c’mon, you know I’m an awesome chef.” Dean laughs.

“That’s true.” Castiel hums. “And you taught me how to be a better one?”

“Pretty much.” Dean chuckles, grazing his nose against Castiel’s. Castiel’s eyes graze over the freckles peppered over the dip and rise of Dean’s cheeks. The sight of them has something bright burning in the core of his heart.

“I think I must be very lucky to have you.” Castiel beams. Dean blushes, but his smile in response is ludicrously pretty.

“I don’t know.” He grins bashfully, looking very tempted to duck his head, but Castiel just presses his lips to Dean’s again and kisses the human, soft and slow. He’s never tasted lips sweeter than the lips of this human’s.

 

…

 

_Castiel enters Dean’s dorm to find him crying softly on his bed. An old record is playing; the music drawling out of it slowly—it’s a sad song—or rather, a bittersweet one; sentimental and melancholy and lost in mourning—and Dean seems so lost to it that he hasn’t even heard Castiel enter the room. The human lies despondently on his bed, staring up at the ceiling, his left hand fisting onto the sheets of his bed as tightly as possible—as though he’s afraid he’s going to fall straight off—he is pressing the heel of the palm of his right hand, hard, into each of his eyes, rubbing them to the point that it should be causing him pain. Castiel frowns, something unhappy shooting along the inside of his chest. He kneels down beside Dean’s bed._

_“Dean?” He asks gently, brushing his hand against the human’s. “Are you okay?”_

_The human seems utterly unperturbed by the angel’s presence—or as unperturbed as he_ could _be in this situation—and lets out a low, broken sob._

_“I miss my mom.”_

_“Oh.” Castiel says, softly. He finds his voice cracking in rather a similar manner to that in which Dean’s did. The sting of tears prickles at his eyes. “I’m sorry—”_

_“I didn’t deserve her.” Dean shakes his head. “It was my fault she died—‘cause I didn’t deserve her—”_

_“No.” Castiel frowns. “That’s not true at all.” He squeezes Dean’s hand tightly, but the human doesn’t seem to notice, because new sobs break out from his body; and something about this has Castiel’s heart breaking with hurt. “Who made you think that?”_

_“Why does it matter?” Dean groans, rubbing at his eyes again, but if it is an attempt to stop himself from crying, then it is to no avail. “It’s true.” He sobs out the words as though they break his heart just to think about._

_“No it’s not.” Castiel shakes his head. He squeezes at Dean’s hand, again. Once again, the human doesn’t notice._

_“I don’t deserve you—” Dean shakes his head, frantically. “You’re so perfect and I’m so broken and dirty and ugly—”_

_Castiel leans down to rest his forehead against Dean’s._

_“No.” He shakes his head, certainly. “None of that’s true.”_

_Dean bites down on a sob and looks away._

_“Dean, look at me.”_

_Apparently the human can’t find himself able to._

_“What’s put you in this mood?” Castiel frowns. “What’s made you like this?”_

_“Life.” Dean shrugs, bitterly, another sheet of tears pressing at his eyes. Castiel watches them cloud over the human’s jade irises before pooling to the point that they spill over onto his voice, following the dips and lines of his skin._

_“Dean,” Castiel’s face lines a little further with worry. “I’d like you to be a little more honest than that.”_

_Dean pushes Castiel away and sits up, rubbing at his eyes again, but pretty soon his body starts shaking instead of him being able to collect himself, however much the human seems to be trying to still himself._

_“I don’t know.” Dean shakes his head. His body trembles. Castiel moves to press his palm to Dean’s back, to the space inbetween his shoulder blades, and rubs in slow, soft circles. “I’ve always—” Dean’s voice breaks off. “I don’t know. I don’t deserve you.”_

_“Stop saying that.” Castiel says firmly, pressing a gentle kiss to the rise of Dean’s cheekbone. “It’s not true; and it’s upsetting me.”_

_“Sorry.” Dean croaks. The music continues to rumble out the record player._

_“Bob Dylan?” Castiel smiles softly, rubbing slow, gentle circles onto Dean’s lower back. The human’s lips twitch marginally upwards, but it sparks a soft and certain hope behind Castiel’s heart._

_“Yeah,” Dean nods, the motion short and quiet. “I don’t know—listening to him always makes me feel—well, I don’t know…” The human shrugs, his cheeks tinging with pink. “He reminds me of home. Of mom, of dad.”_

_“They listened to him?” Castiel asks, smoothing his thumb gently over the material of Dean’s shirt. He feels the human relaxing softly at his touch beneath his fingers._

_“Yeah,” Dean nods. “My dad liked classic rock, mainly—but Bob Dylan was kind of an exception.”_

_“And your mother?” Castiel asks gently, grazing his nose against Dean’s temple. “What music did she like?”_

_“She always sang me The Beatles as lullabies.” Dean’s lips twitch upwards. Castiel exhales a soft laugh. “I know you said that John Lennon was racist—”_

_“But their music comforts you.” Castiel smiles warmly._

_“—Yeah.” Dean falters before answering._

_“Because they remind you of your mother?”_

_“Yes.” Dean confirms._

_“She must have loved you very much.” Castiel kisses a point just below Dean’s ear. He watches the human preen slightly at the touch. “And Bob Dylan reminds you of her, also?”_

_“Of both of them.” Dean nods. He sighs—it is less despondent than it is calmed._

_“I’m so sorry for everything that’s happened to you, Dean.” Castiel says softly, pressing his face against Dean’s cheek._

_“You’ve been through much the same.” Dean shrugs._

_“But not all of it.” Castiel says, shaking his head. Dean stills slightly in his arms. “Not everything that you’ve been through. And I can’t begin to imagine it.”_

_Dean’s lips have pressed into a thin line. Castiel knows how much the human prefers to avoid bridging this subject, even if it causes him so much distress to bottle up._

_“So long, honey bee,” Castiel smiles against Dean’s temple, noting how the human relaxes again into his arms now that Castiel has changed the subject, has returned to simply comforting the human. Castiel’s smile turns into a beam at the content washing, finally over Dean’s features. “Where I’m bound, I can’t tell.”_

_“Goodbye’s too good a word, babe,” Dean sighs, letting Castiel hum the tune, grazing his nose against Dean’s features, as he cards his fingers idly through Dean’s soft hair. “So I’ll just say: fair thee well.”_

_“I ain’t saying you treated me unkind.” Castiel chuckles, low and soft as Dean tilts his head back and closes his eyes, the contented smile pulling at his features still more. He hums out a low, happy sound; finally calmed, as the angel continues to sing gently to him. “You could’ve done better but, I don’t mind.”_

_“You just kinda wasted my precious time—”_

_“But don’t think twice, it’s alright.” Castiel beams, nudging at Dean’s nose tenderly. He adores the way that Dean’s eyelashes flutter softly at the touch, the way that he sighs gently through his nose and leans back on the bed. Castiel doesn’t know if he should press Dean to talk about his feelings. He knows being honest about his emotions and thoughts is something that the human is fairly appalling at—but, all things considered, Dean has every excuse to be just so. And what little information Dean has trusted to Castiel, the angel knows for a fact is of infinite meaning to the human—and the fact that Dean trusted Castiel enough to share it with him is something that Castiel cannot quite get over. He leans back, beside Dean, and tugs the two of them into a more comfortable position as they lie, wrapped around one another._

_He just wants to make things alright. Or, at least, attempt to._

_“Do you want to open up for a bit?” Castiel asks softly, careful not to press the human too hard. “Talk about it? About how you feel?”_

_He feels Dean’s tired exhalation against his chest. Closes his eyes. Braces himself for whatever Dean’s answer may be._

_“I don’t know.” The human admits. His voice is quiet and sincere. “I just—” His voice cracks. He apparently doesn’t know how to continue._

_“You don’t have to talk about it.” Castiel reminds, smoothing his hand softly up and down Dean’s back. “I just think it may do you some good. But it’s your choice.”_

_Dean nods against the angel’s chest._

_“Okay,” He nods. “I’ll—just—can we stay like this? I mean, keep holding me. Don’t go. Don’t stop. Please?”_

_“Of course, Dean.” Castiel says tenderly, his voice quiet as the human’s. “Whatever you want. Whatever you want at all. Whatever you need.”_

_He loves Dean. He loves Dean, and it kills him to see the human in this state. Castiel loves Dean to his bones._

 

Castiel wakes with a start. The sky outside is black with darkness. It’s nowhere near morning. Castiel’s hands feel numb. His head feels as though it’s floating away from the rest of his body into sickening, giddying emptiness. The angel can taste the bitter tang of bile at the back of his mouth. He thinks he’s going to vomit.

He glances over to the sleeping form of the human, whose face is pressed firmly against Castiel’s flank, his legs tangled with the angel’s underneath the covers. Something viciously protective and caring is flaring inside of Castiel. He wants to wrap himself around the human and never let the world push anything painful or sinister on him again. He wants to look after the human. Make him happy.

Something bad happened to Dean. More than once. Something really bad.

Castiel swallows back his bile, his eyes watering.

Someone hurt his human. Someone hurt _Dean_.

 


	16. More Showers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Smut ahead. I hope you enjoy.)

 

The angel rises quickly from the bed and strides into the bathroom. He locks the door behind him, his head pounding and aching as nausea fills all his senses. _Dean—his_ Dean—has been hurt by someone, and the thought has Castiel caught between the stinging press of tears at his eyes and the urge to convulse and vomit. He balls his fists as tight as they will go and squeezes, hard, pressing his nails into the palm of his hand, the pain of the action enough to keep him grounded, if for a short while. He’s going to be sick. He shifts closer to the toilet, eyes watering.

He wonders if Dean has woken up, if Castiel is being particularly loud; but he can’t concentrate on this for too long, because as he recalls more, Castiel begins to feel nausea overcoming his system and throws himself over the bowl of the toilet just in time. His vomit tastes disgustingly bitter, and he convulses slightly. He groans softly, closing his eyes and squeezing out the last of the tears trapped in his eyes.

He stays like that for he doesn’t quite know how long. A long time. Long enough that he has had enough time to mull over his memory, to piece it back together in his mind, again, to slot everything—or most of everything—into place.

It was when Dean was in high school. Castiel is sure of it, now. His final year. Or maybe the year before that. But Dean was young, heartbreakingly young, and all of this is enough to have Castiel rocking back on his heels, pressing the bases of his palms hard to his forehead. He breathes deeply for several long moments, before rising shakily, and grabbing his toothbrush. He can still taste the bile in his mouth, and it’s making him gag.

After brushing his teeth a little too aggressively—Castiel thinks he can taste the metallic tang of his own blood; but this is admittedly far better than the aftertaste of vomit—Castiel opens the bathroom door again and slides softly back into bed. He feels cold, even under the warm covers. His head is pounding against his skull. He sighs again.

Dean yawns and shifts closer to Castiel. The angel nestles down under the covers as Dean nuzzles into his side, pulling Dean tighter into his arms. He feels his eyes sliding closed, but just then, Dean shifts up and Castiel feels the gentle touch of lips against his own.

“You taste like toothpaste.” Dean chuckles sleepily into the night air between them. “Why’s that?”

“I brushed my teeth.” Castiel states, fisting at the covers. He feels Dean’s teeth graze at his bottom lip.

“No kidding.” He exhales a soft laugh. “But why?”

“I had a bad dream.” Castiel decides not to disclose any more information than this; not wishing to upset Dean.

“What was it about?” Dean frowns in the darkness.

“It doesn’t matter.” Castiel shakes his head.

“It was a memory?”

“Yes.” Castiel nods, his heart sinking.

“Was it about your attack?”

“No.” The angel shakes his head, sighing softly again.

“Oh,” Dean says, pressing his face back into the juncture between Castiel’s neck and his shoulder. “Then what was it about?”

“You don’t need to worry about it, Dean.” Castiel takes a deep breath inwards, steadying himself; allowing Dean’s presence and his gentle, needy touches calm him slowly. Dean drags his jaw along Castiel’s skin, sleepily, his stubble scratching and leaving a grounding, warming graze-burn along the angel’s flesh. “I’m here—and everything’s fine, now—and nothing else is going to happen. Nothing else is going to happen to you.”

He feels Dean’s warm breath tickle his neck.

“You’re not making any sense.” The human snorts drowsily.

“Sorry,” Castiel grazes his hand up Dean’s spine, finding comfort in the way the human’s back arches into the angel’s body at the touch. “Don’t worry about it, though. Everything is fine, now.” He presses a kiss to the top of Dean’s delicate head. The man muffles a happy moan into Castiel’s shoulder. He’s asleep in the next moment.

 

…

 

“Mornin’” Dean greets sleepily the next morning. He pulls his arms above his head and stretches his body out as far as it will go along the bed, his back curving into the mattress. Castiel hears the human’s spine popping, and snorts out a gentle laugh at the satisfied expression on the man’s face at this action.

“Good morning.” Castiel replies, his lips twitching upwards. Dean leans forward to press a kiss onto Castiel’s cheek, and the angel has an overwhelming urge to pull Dean back into his arms and kiss him _properly,_ but the human has already sat up and is swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

“I’m, uh, going to go take a shower.” He explains, fiddling with the sheets of the bed for a moment. His eyes flick back up to Castiel’s, nervously. Castiel frowns, perplexed, at the sight. “Unless you—unless you, um, want to join me?” He raises  his eyebrows anxiously in Castiel’s direction, as though he cannot quite believe he mustered up the courage to be able to ask the angel this. Castiel doesn’t know how to react, although he feels something a lot like warm affection spark itself brightly inside the cage of his chest.

“Right,” The angel says, noting the way the human’s face blushes a deep red as Castiel answers, and feeling his own face do the same. Dean looks down, suddenly, as though he can foresee Castiel denying him; just as he denied Castiel, only a day previously, and this sets something firm and resolute inside the base of Castiel’s torso. “Okay.” He nods, suddenly. Dean’s gaze shoots back up to Castiel’s face, and it looks rather a lot like his breath has caught suddenly in his throat. “I’d love to.” Castiel says, swallowing down any nerves he may be feeling.

“Oh—okay—” Dean sputters, cheeks pink. It looks as though he wasn’t expecting such a positive reaction. “Um—” Apparently he doesn’t know what to say. “If we just—”

Castiel stands, getting up off the bed, and making his way softly toward Dean. The human swallows thickly, now that Castiel is close enough to graze his nose across Dean’s; close enough to press gentle kisses to the human’s cheeks and pepper them over his eyelids. He takes Dean gently in both his hands, raising his eyebrows at the human, who nods softly, nervously in confirmation of sorts.

They tread into the bathroom adjoining their bedroom, Dean’s face flushing a deeper pink with every step they take, before Castiel presses his lips gently to the human’s.

“You’re okay?” He asks, softly.

“Yeah—” Dean nods, his voice somewhat raw in his voice.

“You’re sure?”

The human nods again.

“You don’t have to do any of this, if you don’t want to.” Castiel reminds.

“But I _do_ want to.” Dean says, his voice sounding almost childish. “I was just scared that—”

“Scared that what?”

“That you didn’t love me, anymore.” Dean admits. He looks down at the floor of the bathroom. “I was scared that you never would—and—I don’t know. Now I know you do.” He looks back up to Castiel, almost nervously. “You do, right?” He asks, an anxious expression worming its way across his features.

“Yes.” Castiel confirms tenderly, nudging at Dean’s nose. “So much.” He huffs out a short, breathless laugh. “Against all odds, Dean, I find it impossible _not_ to.”

Dean’s shy smile in return is the most beautiful thing that Castiel thinks he’s ever seen. Castiel’s lips are grazing against Dean’s as he beams and entwines his and the human’s fingers before tugging Dean into the bathroom.

He kisses Dean’s lips as gently as possible, pressing him softly back up against the closed door as the human’s eyes flicker closed, his fingers winding at  the thin material of Castiel’s t-shirt. The angel feels his hands slip almost unintentionally up Dean’s own shirt, his thumbs stroking at the ridges of Dean’s hips as the human lets out a soft sound of approval against Castiel’s mouth.

“I’ve missed this.” Dean sighs breathlessly as he pulls back only marginally from Castiel’s lips.

“You’re sure you want to?”

“Of course,” Dean laughs in breathless anticipation. “—So much.” He presses his forehead back against Castiel’s and nudges at the angel’s nose, a silent question. Castiel answers it by pressing his lips to Dean’s again and sliding his hands further up Dean’s chest, under his shirt. Dean tugs back again and pulls the item of clothing off completely—although rather clumsily—and looks back up to Castiel again, grinning bashfully at the angel’s raised eyebrows.

“What?” He huffs out another breath of nervous laughter and tugs Castiel flush back against him, again. “I was just speeding things up for you.” He beams sheepishly. Castiel’s lips twitch upwards into one of the warmest smiles he thinks he’s ever pulled.

“I’ve spoiled you, I can tell.” He chuckles, his hands slipping around Dean’s waist. The human tilts his head up expectantly and Castiel snorts softly before obliging him, kissing up Dean’s neck.

“You like me spoiled.” Dean replies, his lips still ghosting into a smile. “You like indulging me.”

“Yes, that doesn’t surprise me at all.” Castiel chuckles as Dean’s hands fumble for the angel’s shirt, attempting to tug it off. Castiel presses his hands to Dean’s wrists and Dean stills, the angel removing his shirt himself. “You get clumsy while you’re flustered.” Castiel observes quietly. Dean blushes slightly.

“Yeah, well—”

Castiel grazes his nose against Dean’s again, and the human falls quiet.

“I hope I don’t _always_ spoil you.” He hums softly, hand stroking at Dean’s flank. “I wouldn’t want you going soft.”

“You don’t—”

“What do I do to keep you unassuming, then?”

“Um—” Dean stammers. “You—self-control exercises—and, uh, you get me to work for it—”

“That sounds like a lot of fun.” Castiel’s lips twitch upwards as Dean blushes. “And you enjoy it, too?”

Dean’s face flushes further still.

“Yeah—it, uh—it feels good. I like it.” He sputters slightly. “A lot.”

“That’s good.” Castiel hums lightly. “You’re telling me the truth?” He raises his eyebrows at Dean.

“Of course—” Dean frowns slightly indignantly, and Castiel squeezes his side softly in gentle reprimand. “—I thought you’d be able to recall that from all your memories—”

“I was only making sure, Dean.” Castiel reminds softly, pressing another kiss to the underside of Dean’s jaw before turning the shower on.

“How hot do you want it?” The angel asks, turning back to Dean.

Dean’s face turns a furious red.

“—Uh—what?” He splutters.

“The shower, Dean.” Castiel feels smug amusement curling at his features. “What temperature do you like your showers?”

“Oh—warm—hot.” Dean shakes his head. “I like them hot.”

“Of course you do.” Castiel’s lips twitch upwards into a quiet smirk. He sets the temperature of the shower to one of its higher settings and watches as steam fills the room, slowly pressing at the mirrors and windows and fogging them up.

He turns back to the human and tugs off his pyjama pants, noting the way that Dean’s eyes remain trained on Castiel. The angel smiles softly again and steps toward Dean again, pulling down the human’s joggers. Dean steps out of them clumsily.

“You doing okay?” Castiel asks, raising his eyes questioningly at the human.

“Yeah—” Dean nods breathlessly. Castiel’s eyes graze down Dean’s freckled shoulders and chest, so infinitely beautiful, before flitting down further. He presses his hand to Dean’s flank, almost unintentionally. “—You?”

Castiel breaks out into a beam and tugs Dean into the spray of the shower.

“Just wonderful, Dean.” He laughs. Dean’s smile is gorgeously bashful as he brushes his nose against Castiel’s again and presses his lips to the angel’s.

The spray of water has Dean’s soft brown hair growing damper by the second, and Castiel beams and slips his fingers through the waterlogged tufts of the human’s hair. He cannot help but marvel at every element of Dean; at every piece of—what is deemed in Castiel’s eyes as—his perfection.

And of course, something burning hot and bright with white light is coursing through Castiel’s veins like hot magma; doing so in the knowledge— _because_ of the knowledge—that he and Dean are stood, free of clothing, in a torrent of hot water. It sets something possessive and alive with lust dancing along the angel’s skin, and he leans in to press his lips gently to Dean’s before sliding his hands down the human’s body, water streaming over it. This is the first time since the loss of his memory that he has seen Dean, _all_ of Dean—and Castiel thinks it means as much to the human as it does to him. Dean’s eyes are wide and filled with nervous anticipation—as well as that desperate lust which seems to burst at Dean’s seams that Castiel can recall seeing each time he has had memories—or an experience—of Dean and himself in such situations.

And he thinks he understands _why_ Dean is looking so nervous—something familiar and almost instinctive presses at Castiel’s gut as he leans closer to brush his lips against the human’s nose.

“You look so beautiful.” He hums, his lips twitching upwards. Even in the steam of the shower, he can make out Dean’s blush in response. “I’m embarrassing you?” Castiel asks, his eyebrows raised yet a warm smile set almost unintentionally upon his lips.

“Yeah,” Dean laughs, face pink, “but not in a bad way.”

Castiel pulls a questioning expression.

“I don’t know,” Dean shrugs, the sheepish smile still lacing his features. “I’ve just never gotten used to your compliments.”

“And that’s a good thing?” Castiel asks. “Or you find it to be so?”

“I like how happy your attention makes me feel.” The heat creeps further down Dean’s neck. “I don’t know—”

Castiel chuckles and nudges at Dean’s nose, his hand trailing down to brush at the ridge of Dean’s hipbone before finding the human; his arousal and the heat of the shower having already made him hard, and strokes the length of Dean slowly.

“You like the attention I give you?” Castiel asks softly. Dean nods shyly in response. “I like giving it.” Castiel hums, stroking Dean again. The human shudders under his touch. “I like how you like it—I like that it makes you happy—and I like the way you respond to it. You look so pretty when you blush. You look even _more_ beautiful when you smile.”

This of course pulls a shy beam from Dean’s lips, but it quickly falls as the human’s eyes flutter closed at Castiel’s hands on his dick. Castiel shifts closer still to Dean, pressing his body up against the tiled wall of the shower and pressing his knee inbetween Dean’s legs. He cannot help but marvel at just how _close_ the two of them are, now, and Dean seems to be thinking along the same lines because stuttered moans and soft, deep breaths have started falling from his lips.

“I like seeing you like this.” Castiel hums softly. “Seeing you so taken apart.”

“I like being taken apart by you.” Dean groans, his head lolling back against the tiles as Castiel’s hand continues stroking along the length of the human, the other running up and down Dean’s body. “You always make it feel so _good_ —” Dean’s moan cuts him off from anything else he had been planning on saying.

“I’m glad.” Castiel chuckles. He presses a kiss to the underside of Dean’s jaw, making sure he allows his teeth to graze roughly at the spot. The human shudders and groans beneath him again. “You like that?” Castiel asks, pulling back and smirking softly. Dean nods and closes his eyes, his hips attempting to drive up into Castiel’s closed fist, but the angel won’t allow this. “No,” He shakes his head softly. “I want you to trust me to take care of you. Can you do that?”

“Yes—” Dean nods quickly. “I trust you.”

“Thank you.” Castiel hums, twisting his wrist in reward of Dean’s admission of dependence, which earns him a wonderful sound caught beautifully on the knife’s edge between a moan and a sigh. “It means a lot to me that you should say that.”

The angel presses his forehead up against Dean’s again. Kisses softly at the human’s lips. It’s his next admission and a swipe of his thumb over the head of Dean’s cock that apparently sends the human over the edge. Well, admission here being a liberal use of the word, Castiel thinks to himself—the angel lists, quite literally, everything about the human that made him first fall in love with him—he is only halfway through mentioning the way that Dean feels the need to wear socks in bed before taking them off halfway through the night because of his feet overheating—when Dean is caught between laughing and moaning, the most beautiful, stunned smile Castiel thinks he has ever seen flitting across the human’s face, twisting with each moment in pleasure.

Dean’s release spatters their stomachs and the human presses his face into Castiel’s neck as soon as he comes, holding onto the angel tighter than life itself.

“Oh—” Is all Dean seems able to pant out, and Castiel huffs out a breathless chuckle, a pleased beam spreading across his features. But before Castiel has finished winding his fingers gently through Dean’s sodden hair, the human is bending down, kissing Castiel’s chest before kneeling onto the shower floor.

“Dean—” Castiel starts, his hands faltering to press at the human’s neck. “—You don’t need—”

“I wanna say thank you.” Dean slurs, pressing his forehead to the inside of Castiel’s thigh. The angel swallows and closes his eyes.

“You don’t have to—”

“Yeah, but I want to.” Dean looks up at Castiel through those impossibly thick, dark eyelashes of his. “This is what we—I suck your dick in the shower, and you wash my hair.”

Castiel laughs, despite himself, but feels something guilty twist in his stomach when he notices Dean’s embarrassed expression.

“I just don’t want you to feel like you _have_ to—”

“I _want_ to—” Dean shakes his head. “This is what we do. I take care of you, and you take care of me.”

“And I wash your hair?” Castiel asks. “While you’re sucking me off?”

Dean shrugs.

“I like it. You kinda do too, for that matter.”

“And why’s that, do you think?”

“You like looking after people.” Dean states, still staring wide-eyed up at Castiel. “Me in particular.”

“And you like being looked after?” Castiel doesn’t even need to ask this—he knows it for a fact, but the human blushes and nods anyway. It’s all the confirmation Castiel needs, and he hums in approval for a moment before guiding Dean’s head down over his cock, thrumming with arousal from watching Dean be so beautifully indulged.

It feels incredible—Dean’s warm mouth wrapped so perfectly around Castiel—his teeth graze the angel’s shaft and his eyes flutter closed as he lets out a heady sigh of satisfaction—at the knowledge that Castiel’s dick is in his mouth? The idea that Dean should enjoy it so much has Castiel moaning and driving his hips forward, and Dean groans again and swallows him down with no difficulty. Castiel’s hand makes its way into Dean’s hair, his other picking up the shampoo bottle and squeezing some of the contents out onto his palm—Dean doesn’t seem to appreciate the hand being removed from his head, but a moment later it is there again, and Castiel is rubbing in smooth, soft circles, watching as bubbles form in clusters at the top of Dean’s head. He is careful to make sure that none make their way anywhere near Dean’s eyes, and yet this is a horribly difficult task, especially when Dean decides to flick his tongue across the head of Castiel.

Washing away all the bubbles also involves Castiel driving himself a little further down Dean’s throat—the human takes him eagerly—and Castiel is only able to issue a brief warning before he is coming down Dean’s throat—the human swallows all of his release down and it feels _incredible—_

Castiel thinks he whites out for a moment—he comes to, floating down from a cloud of pleasure, to find Dean kissing him adoringly.

“Dean,” He hums, his arms winding round Dean’s waist.

“Hm?”

“That was—you—”

“I know what you like.” Dean reminds, chuckling soft and low.

“You certainly do.” Castiel sighs. Dean nearly giggles and grabs the bottle of shampoo, squeezing an amount onto his hand and rubbing into Castiel’s hair. Castiel laughs and tilts his head back, the expression on Dean’s face setting a deep simmering joy through his frame. “So after I wash your hair, you wash mine?” He asks. “That’s what we do?”

“We look after each other.” Dean shrugs, his eyes crinkling at their corners.

“I’m glad we do.” Castiel finds himself admitting honestly. “I’m glad I have you.”

Castiel falls a little more in love with Dean at the flustered, elated expression the angel receives in response to his confession.

 


	17. "The Usual"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warning: Description of abuse in past relationship of Dean's

They step out of the shower and Castiel dries Dean off with the softest towel he can find, before Dean apparently decides to return the favour. Their touches are the gentlest sort Castiel thinks is possible, and filled with soft kisses and the drag of fingers through damp hair.

Dean leaves for work soon after that; getting dressed and dashing downstairs for a coffee and some quick breakfast. Castiel dresses too, albeit far more slowly, and is downstairs in time to kiss Dean goodbye by the door.

“I’ll see you after work.” Dean hums, the smile evident in his voice as Castiel grazes his nose affectionately against the human’s. “Take-out for dinner sound good?”

“Whatever you want, Dean.” Castiel chuckles, brushing the backs of his knuckles against Dean’s cheeks. Dean beams at the touch.

“See you.” He waves as he drags himself away from the angel and makes his way out the door.

“Have a good day.” Castiel smiles. Dean beams in response.

“You too.”

Castiel turns back into the house. He fears _his_ day will be spent craving the human a little too much for him to actually have a nice time, whatever he decides to do. In the end, he settles for a long walk around the neighbourhood, taking the map that Dean gave him with him.

He strolls around the various stores for a while, before deciding to buy himself a drink—checking that he has the money beforehand. His wallet is fortunately settled comfortably in his coat, and so the angel enters a small café situated at the end of a long line of store fronts.

For a moment, Castiel freezes at the entry, terrified that he is going to be kicked out—he has grown so accustomed to being treated like such a _person_ by Dean that he had almost completely forgotten how differently the rest of the human world would treat him—but Castiel lets out an internal sigh of relief at the sight of the winged barista—angels are allowed in this coffee shop.

Except Castiel does a double take at the crowd of people in the shop—because humans sit at the tables—along with angels—some sharing a table, deep in conversation, others at the counter ordering drinks to go, interacting with angels in a way that Castiel has never seen from humanity.

Maybe more things have changed than the angel first thought.

He pulls out a seat and worries at his lip, lost in pensive thought—Dean had definitely mentioned that segregation in any public places was illegal, now that Castiel comes to think of it—and so it really should come as no surprise to see angels and humans eating and drinking alongside one another. But that doesn’t shake the fact that it’s still a little odd—no, _very_ odd for Castiel to see—and he feels taken aback; alien in what is apparently a new world.

Except—oh—not very new, Castiel reminds himself. He was the victim of a hate crime only a month earlier.

He sighs and glances over the selection of food and drinks offered at the establishment, written up on the chalkboard above the heads of the staff behind the till. One of them glances up and beams at Castiel in warm and friendly familiarity—it’s a human, Castiel feels himself frown a little, before reminding himself that this one certainly cannot be all that bad, if he has chosen to associate with them.

“Castiel!” The human beams, waving over to Castiel. “It’s so lovely to see you—and such a surprise—! I’ll get to you in just a moment!”

Castiel frowns thoughtfully again and thanks the human as she turns back to a customer and takes their order, before tapping an angel co-worker softly on the shoulder and whispering something in their direction. They smile and nod and she thanks them earnestly, before making her way around the counter and in front of where Castiel is sitting.

“Wow, Cassie!” She beams again, and it’s a little infectious, because Castiel returns the look without realising it. “It’s so great to see you!”

“You too.” Castiel lies, still smiling graciously. He wonders how it is he should broach the subject with this admittedly rather charming human that he has no idea who she is.

The human has short brown hair and wears a plaid shirt and underneath her work clothes. An apron is tied round her front, and her eyes are a warm brown as she smiles at the angel in front of her.

“We’ve missed you around here, you know.” Her eyes crinkle softly at their corners as she places her notebook in the pocket of her apron. “You haven’t come round in, what, over a month? What happened? I ran into Dean the other day and he said you’d had an accident—are you alright?”

“I’m fine, yes.” The angel nods, fiddling awkwardly with the seam of his right trouser leg.

“So you had an accident?”

“Yes.” Castiel confirms. He watches as the human’s face lines with worry.

“What happened?—if it’s not too rude of me to ask—”

“No, that’s fine.” Castiel shrugs. “But it’s rather a long story—I’ll cut it short and just say that I was assaulted.”

“Oh—” The human presses her hand to her mouth, shocked. “That’s just awful—I’m so sorry—”

“It’s not your fault.” Castiel shrugs.

“Do they know who did it?” She asks cautiously. “They sent them away?”

“No,” Castiel shakes his head. “They have no idea.”

“That’s terrible.” The human sighs, shaking her head softly for a moment. She places a warm hand to Castiel’s shoulder, and the angel is able to catch a glimpse of the name written on her badge—Jody. Jody Mills. It certainly sounds familiar. “I’m so sorry.” She presses her lips together into a thin, worried line, and sighs again. “Can I get you anything?”

“Um—” Castiel starts, feeling unsure again.

“Let me guess, the usual, right?” She asks, her lips twitching upwards into a playfully amused smile. Castiel returns the look, albeit rather uncertainly.

“Yes, that would be lovely, thank you.” He nods. Jody Mills smiles again, giving him one last warm squeeze of the shoulder and telling Castiel that it isn’t a problem before scribbling down his order and turning back around, making her way over to the front of the café and calling out something to one of her workmates. Castiel doesn’t know what his ‘usual’ is. He hopes he actually likes it.

Jody returns a minute later with a mint tea and a slice of walnut cake. Castiel finds himself smiling down at the order.

“You’ve missed our specials, huh?” Miss Mills beams at the angel, laughing gently.

“Something like that.” Castiel nods, glancing back up to the woman and finding his lips twitching upwards, before picking up the small fork he has been handed with the cake.

“You’d think Pam puts crack in that stuff, with how addictive it is.” She chuckles, shaking her head. Castiel laughs and agrees. Honestly, he has no idea.

The human leaves again and Castiel is able to mull over his own thoughts—particularly the thoughts of him and Dean in the shower, that morning. He sighs longingly without realising. Dean is an oddity, to be certain—but so unchangeably perfect in Castiel’s eyes, even if he can only recall knowing him for such a brief amount of time. Castiel has at least admitted to himself that he has fallen in love with the human, again—and is continuing to do so—a task which took him an insurmountable quantity of inner strength. And now that he has done so, the resolute protectiveness that tangles in with his affection for Dean has started to filter in to his heart, stronger and stronger with each passing day—with each growing twist of his emotions for the human—and coming with that is the sick feeling Castiel gets at the base of his gut—the one that swells inside of him and washes over him in nauseating waves—at the knowledge of what it is Dean went through when in high school. Castiel bites the inside of his mouth to stem the press of tears at the memory.

_“His name was Alastair.” Dean lets out a trembling sigh, sitting on the edge of his bad, Castiel’s hand cautiously resting at the base of the human’s back. His face is swollen and red and his eyes are lost in the swim of tears. Castiel isn’t sure what to say—his heart is breaking in the worst pain possible and Dean’s shaking silence fractures into him—should he respond? Should he wait? His question is answered when Dean’s quaking voice sounds again, lost and quiet and terrified. “It was—I was seventeen—I was—”_

_Castiel’s insides tremble._

_“—And he was—” Dean stammers, shakes, as though he can’t speak; as though he doesn’t know what words to say or what order to put them in—and Castiel doesn’t know what to do. He is lost; caught between the crushing desire to pull Dean into his arms and never let anything happen to him again, the urge to cry or vomit or both—and the urge not to leave Dean; not like this, but equally not to smother him, not to overwhelm him. “—He was—” Castiel presses his hand a little firmer to the small of Dean’s back, to remind him he’s still there; he’s there for Dean, he always will be. “—He started out so_ soft.” _Dean trembles. “So charming and confident and I—” Dean trembles, closes his eyes and squeezes out the tears pressing at his eyes. “—I was an_ idiot.”

_“No,” Castiel finds his voice, now, and shakes his head softly. “No, that’s not true at all.”_

_Dean shudders beneath Castiel’s hand._

“No—” _He trembles. “—I should’ve known—when things started to go wrong, I should have known—”_

_Castiel’s tears have spilled onto his cheeks._

_“—He was so_ soft _—but then he started—and then he wasn’t, anymore—”_

_Castiel swallows, his insides fracturing at Dean’s words._

_“—And then things got out of control—and I was doing things—and it was out of fear—and then one day he went too far—he lost it, and he went too far, and I pushed him too far, and he—” Dean’s sob cuts him off, and Castiel doesn’t hesitate this time before pulling Dean into his arms, his head pressed against the angel’s chest. This was apparently the right thing to do—Dean bites another sob into Castiel’s shoulder and his body is shaking under Castiel’s fingers and in Castiel’s arms and the world has turned grey, something hollow and broken eating at the inside of Castiel because_ Dean, _perfect precious magnificent Dean is broken, too, and it’s killing Castiel. And everything is starting to piece together—Dean’s sudden mood swings, his turns, his bad days, his self-loathing, his night-terrors, his apparent visit to hospital, his scars,_ all _of it._

_Castiel rocks Dean gently, whispering hushed comforts and promises of protection, of never leaving the human, as Dean’s tears soak through the material of Castiel’s shirt and his own slip softly down his face._

 


	18. Jo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry this update is so late! I have a horrible amount of exams etc. coming up and finding the time for writing is really difficult. Hopefully next update will come soon, but honestly I can't really promise anything.

 

Castiel sits under the shade of a tree in the park for a while after his visit to the café. The solitude is nice. He decides that it would be far nicer if Dean were present. As it is, he has been able to calm himself and recollect more of what Dean went through. Castiel doesn’t think he _can_ probe this subject with the human. He resolves—as he did in the memory—to be everything that Dean needs—all the comfort and kindness Dean could possibly conceive, Castiel is going to provide for him. He’s going to be gentle and kind—and it’s not that he wouldn’t be, anyway; Dean brings out something so tender in Castiel that he has only ever shown to his husband and his sister—but more so. More perfect to Dean than the human could possibly imagine—because honestly, Dean has been just as perfect towards Castiel.

Castiel doesn’t have a watch on him, or even his phone—probably a mistake, if he is honest, because if Dean wants to call him Castiel will be unreachable—but he glances up at the sky and estimates by the light and the sun’s position above his head that Dean will definitely be home from work, now. At least Castiel left a note explaining his whereabouts on the kitchen table.

At any rate, he misses his husband and the company the human provides—something which his past self would rather die than to admit—and so he gets up, brushing himself off, and begins to make his way back home.

Opening the door, Castiel’s heart drops into his stomach. He is met by the sight of Dean stood in the hallway in the tight embrace of a woman—a young woman with long blonde hair and a _very_ pretty face, on the very tips of her toes to be able to have her arms slung so comfortably around Dean’s shoulders.

“ _Joanna Beth,_ ” Dean laughs— _beams_ —into her shoulder, the sound free and happy from his lips, unrestrained and guileless and something breaks inside of Castiel—something snaps—he wants to shout or cry or slam the door and stalk back off into the street again, but all he manages to do is let out a small, strangled;

“Dean?”

Dean pulls back suddenly, away from the woman—no, _girl_ , Castiel thinks—she looks young—younger than Rachel—

“Cas—” Dean starts, and Castiel is ready to confront the human—but the girl has turned around and is beaming, pulling the angel into her arms.

“ _Castiel_!” She exclaims, laughing carelessly. “You’re okay, again!”

Castiel frowns—in particular, in Dean’s direction—and Dean’s face is a dark red as he tugs the girl by the shoulder away from Castiel, again.

“Jo, he can’t remember you—I _told_ you—”

“So, what, Dean—I’m not meant to hug him when he walks through that door and I haven’t seen him in like, a _month?!”_ The girl sighs as though Dean is being exhaustingly difficult and rolls her eyes. “And when the last time I saw him, he was unconscious in a hospital bed?!”

Castiel’s frown sets a little deeper onto his face, confusion pressing at his expression.

“Jo, shut-up,” Dean glares, giving the human girl a gentle push which earns him an indignant noise and a push back. “Cas—this is Jo—”

“I’d gathered that.” Castiel is nearly glowering back at the human.

“She’s my sister.” Dean finishes. “Adopted sister. Daughter of Ellen.”

This doesn’t stop the confused frown set on Castiel’s features.

“What?”

“Um—Jo’s dad died before she was born—which was a few months after my mom and dad—but Bobby had sorta taken us under his wing—and then a few years later he and Ellen got together—and adopted me and Sammy—so, yeah, this is my adoptive sister.”

“You’ve never mentioned her before.” Castiel says slowly.

“Dean!” Jo exclaims, shoving Dean again. Dean frowns once more and pushes her back.

“That’s definitely not true—well, I would’ve called her Jo and not specified who she was—but only ‘cause it’s so easy to forget that you can’t remember—”

“So why haven’t I met her before?” Castiel frowns again.

“I’m normally way east in Connecticut.” Jo answers, smiling unabashed.

“Jo goes to Yale.” Dean beams proudly. Castiel’s temperament softens.

Oh—Dean has _definitely_ told Castiel about Jo. His and Sam’s Joanna Beth, whom he looks after just as he does his younger brother—something bitter and guilty curls and shrivels in Castiel’s heart. So much for being perfect towards Dean. So much for being everything the human deserves.

“And so I haven’t been able to see you since before you came to,” Jo states, pulling Castiel into another hug. “But Dean told me about everything. About your memory.”

“Right,” Castiel nods, his hands faltering before resting cautiously on the human’s back. “Sorry.”

The guilt continues worming at his heart— _fuck—_ how could he think so poorly of

Dean? And how could he show so little trust towards the human who has proven himself, time and time again, to be more than worthy of it? He bites the inside of his mouth hard enough to taste the metallic tang of his own blood—is this some kind of self-reprimand?—If so, Castiel thinks to himself, it’s not nearly enough. He kicks himself internally.

“You think you’re getting any better?” Jo asks, pulling back from Castiel.

“Um—” The angel stammers, worry still twisting at his features. “—Well, I hope so. And I’m remembering more and more with every day that passes, so I suppose I am, yes.”

“Speaking of, Cas,” Dean starts, and Castiel glances up guiltily over to his husband, “did you remember anything today?”

Castiel resolves not to tell the complete truth—at least not for now.

“Yes,” He nods. True. “I’ll tell you later.” Very possibly false.

“Alright.” Dean shrugs.

“Hey, did you remember anything about me?” Jo asks, an animated smile flitting across her lips. Castiel is reminded briefly of Rachel, and his mouth breaks into a subtle, small smile.

“No, sorry.” Castiel shakes his head. Jo sighs disappointedly.

“So you haven’t had _any_ memories of me?” She asks.

“You sound a little like Dean.” Castiel finds himself laughing. Dean rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, alright, Cas—let’s go and sit in the kitchen before you offend both of us any more than you just have.”

“You find it offensive that I think you and Jo are similar?” Castiel raises his eyebrows. Jo smirks.

“It’s more offensive to me than it is to Dean.” She states as she wanders into the kitchen.

“Why’s that?” Castiel frowns.

“’Cause Dean’s a freakin’ _idiot.”_

Dean throws a dishcloth at Jo’s head, but she apparently anticipates it and ducks quickly.

“I don’t know,” Castiel laughs, brushing his hand softly across the small of Dean’s back. “He has his moments.”

“Thanks, Cas.” Dean rolls his eyes again as Jo giggles and pulls out a chair at the kitchen table. “Hey, either of you want a drink of anything?”

“Just some water, please.” Castiel answers as Jo leans back on the chair and ties her hair up.

“Can I get a coffee?” She asks. “I’m _exhausted.”_

“Travelling out here really took it out of you, huh?” Dean grins as he pulls a glass for Castiel and a cup for Jo out of the cupboard.

“You have _no_ idea.” Jo sighs leaning back again so that the back of her head is pressing at the back of her chair, and she is staring up at the ceiling.

“You want a cushion or anything?” Dean asks, smirking over at Jo, who throws him a dirty look and sits up straight again.

“Oh, piss off.” She rolls her eyes—Dean barks out a laugh in response.

“Language, Johanna.” He snorts. “I’m only trying to make sure my favourite little sister is as comfortable as possible.”

Jo shakes her head as Dean hands her her cup of coffee and glances at Castiel, giving him an exhausted _this is what I have to put up with_ look. Castiel bites down on his laugh and thanks Dean for the water, making his way over to Dean’s adoptive sister.

“What are you studying, Jo?” He asks, pulling out a chair and seating himself on it.

“Engineering.” Jo answers, beaming widely.

“Wow.” Castiel says.

“Yeah, Jo’s a genius.” Dean beams, ruffling Jo’s hair as he takes a seat opposite Castiel. Castiel smiles at the flushed smile that this pulls from the human’s lips, and the carefully aimed embarrassed punch she throws playfully in Dean’s direction.

“Geez, I can’t even compliment you without getting attacked.” Dean shakes his head and sighs in mock exasperation, pulling a happy giggle from Jo’s lips.

“You’re only doing it to embarrass me.” She shakes her head. “How’s work going?” She asks. Dean shrugs and smiles.

“Alright, I guess. Lately there’ve been a lot of small jobs—y’know, people who have too much money asking me to design them luxury condos or renovate their bathrooms—but there’s some banking firm that want a new building, so depending on how creative they’re feeling, that could be a lot of fun.”

“Bankers don’t really strike me as the most creative people.”

“And that’s why they’d probably want some seriously artistic building to throw that stereotype outta the proverbial window.” Dean laughs.

“Fair enough.” Jo chuckles, shaking her head. “And what about you, Cas?” She asks, turning to face Castiel. “Have you been able to go back to work?”

“Unfortunately, no.” Castiel shakes his head.

“Aw, that sucks.” Jo frowns in sympathy. “I’m sorry.”

Castiel shrugs in response.

“Didn’t you have that interview scheduled in like, a month, though?” Jo asks. “How will you be planning on doing that? Will you have to cancel?”

“Interview?” Castiel frowns.

“Yeah!” Jo exclaims. “Dean, hadn’t you told him?! Cas, you’re going to be on national TV!”

Castiel turns and frowns at Dean, who is looking rather sheepish.

“It must have slipped my mind.”

_“Dude—”_

“I was kinda hoping Cas’d have his memory back—or at least _nearly completely_ back—by that point, anyway!”

“And what if he doesn’t?”

“I don’t know…” Dean sighs, slumping in his chair. He glances up at Castiel guiltily. “I’m sorry, Cas.”

“That’s fine.” Castiel attempts to brush aside Dean’s worry, but it doesn’t appear to work. “What’s the interview on, anyway?”

“The usual—your latest book, some of your beliefs and ideologies, social justice as a

whole, etcetera.” Dean replies, running a hand through his hair.

“Oh,” Castiel says. “I suppose I’ll just have to improvise it, won’t I?”

Dean glances up and worries at his lip.

“Or read my book.”

“You’ll have to read all of them.” Jo laughs, crossing her legs underneath her on the chair. “Just in case.”

“That’s very true,” Castiel chuckles. “Better safe than sorry, after all. Although the idea of reading my own book and having no idea of what exactly I’ve put in it is admittedly rather surreal.”

“I can imagine.” Jo giggles, shaking her head. Castiel’s eyes flit over to Dean to see him looking only marginally relieved. He stretches his hand out across the table and finds Dean’s, squeezing it softly.

“It’ll be alright.” He reassures gently. Dean glances up and sighs.

“Yeah,” He nods. “I sure hope so.”


	19. Touching

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut ahead (for basically the entire chapter)
> 
> You have been warned.

“Jo’ll be staying at Bobby and Ellen’s, tonight.” Dean mumbles sleepily as he climbs into bed, that night. “We’re all gonna eat dinner round there tomorrow.”

“Okay.” Castiel nods softly as Dean’s hands slip around his waist from under the covers.

“Didn’t know she was gonna be visiting.” Dean chuckles quietly as he presses his face into Castiel’s chest. “Would’a told you, otherwise.”

“That’s okay.” The angel shrugs softly as Dean’s hands slip under his t-shirt.

“Took us all by surprise.” He hums. “She likes doing that.”

“Does she?” Castiel chortles gently as Dean’s fingers slip up his spine. He cards his own idly through the human’s hair.

“She likes being a little shit, too.”               

“I’ll tell her you said that.” Castiel chuckles.

“You wouldn’t.” Dean looks up at Castiel, dread filling his features. Castiel laughs again and pulls the human up to kiss him.

“No, not really.” He laughs. “Not after seeing how much the idea terrified you, no.”

“Shut up.” Dean murmurs against Castiel’s lips.

Castiel rolls the two of them over and guides the human gently into straddling his waist, legs on either side of Castiel’s body, and hums appreciatively as the kisses grow rougher, more needy; as Dean’s hands move to fist headily at the angel’s hair. And then things escalate further—Dean’s hips set into grinding against Castiel’s—which feels good, _really_ good—before Dean is tugging off his own shirt clumsily from where he sits, on top of Castiel.

“Do you want to—” Dean stammers, blushing in the dark. “—I mean, I understand if you don’t—especially seeing as this morning, we already—”

Castiel’s lips are tugged upwards into that familiarly affectionate smile. He raises his eyebrows gently at Dean.

“What do _you_ want to do, Dean?” He asks, his hands pressing softly to Dean’s waist and his thumbs stroking tenderly at the ridges of Dean’s hipbones. The human lets out a quiet sigh at the touch, his eyes fluttering closed.

“I want you.” Dean replies earnestly. “I want you in every way possible—in the way that we used to be.”

“You want to fuck?” Castiel asks.

“Yeah.” Dean nods. “But only if that’s something you want, too.”

“Of course it is, Dean.” Castiel laughs softly, leaning up to press his lips gently to the human’s again. He guides Dean down, rolling him over so that the human is on his back and Castiel is pressed on top of him, and pulls back from Dean’s lips for a moment, earning him a needy whine from Dean’s mouth as he unbuckles Dean’s belt and undoes and pulls down Dean’s jeans.

“Where do we keep the lube?” He asks, bending down a moment and brushing his nose against Dean’s.

“Um—” Dean stammers. “Top drawer—” He gestures to the drawers beside their bed, and Castiel rises for a moment to rummage, before finding what he’s looking for. He turns back to Dean to see the human’s legs spread wide apart, teasing, inviting, and Castiel smirks smugly at the sight.

“You like showing off, don’t you?” He chuckles as he grazes the backs of his fingers against the inside of Dean’s thigh. The human shudders a sigh and spreads his legs further, head tipping back against the pillows.

“You like _watching_ me show off.” He replies, his voice catching in his throat as he speaks. Castiel smiles at the slight inflection in the human’s voice, heavy with want and need, and brushes his knuckles on the inside of Dean’s leg again.

“That doesn’t surprise me.” He chuckles, low and soft. “You _do_ look so pretty, after all.”

Dean’s lips twitch upward into an embarrassed, pleased smile. Castiel bends down and presses a kiss to the inside of Dean’s thigh before rubbing his palm softly over the growing hardness in Dean’s boxer-briefs. Dean groans and tilts his head back again, his eyes fluttering closed.

“You like that?” Castiel asks gently, his lips tugging upwards into a smug smile.

“Yeah,” Dean nods, his bare chest rising and falling with deep breaths. “You know what I’d like _even more?”_

Castiel chuckles soft and low.

“I’ve _definitely_ spoiled you.” He smirks softly, tugging down the human’s underwear. Dean’s chest flushes pink. “Now, what was it that you said you’d like even more?”

“You fucking me.” Dean laughs breathlessly.

“You want me to fuck you?”

“Of course,” Dean giggles, a little deliriously, as Castiel presses another kiss to the inside of Dean’s thigh. He glances up at Dean’s cock, half-hard, and feels the overwhelming desire to taste it—he never has before, after all, or rather he can’t remember doing so—and so without thinking he  presses his lips to Dean’s flushed head before wrapping his mouth around the human. Dean groans appreciatively beneath Castiel, and the angel resists the urge to moan happily at the taste of the human on his tongue. Something pleased and heavy with _want_ and _need_ is curling hotly around Castiel’s abdomen and he presses his tongue flat against the underside of the head of Dean’s cock, before flicking it around the whole of him, gauging the effect this motion has on the human before pulling Dean out of his mouth and pressing a kiss to the base of Dean’s dick and breathing in the heavy, musky scent of the human.

“Oh, fuck.” Dean moans, his voice rough and low with want—Castiel’s lips twitch up at the sound.

“We’ll get there.” Castiel hums. He uncaps the lube and coats his fingers in the cool liquid, before ghosting the pad of his thumb against Dean’s tight ring of muscles. A startled groan escapes the human’s lips at this, and Castiel presses his index finger inside of Dean, adoring the way Dean wriggles down onto it, biting down onto his lip.

“You look good like this.” Castiel chuckles softly, sliding his finger in and out of Dean for a moment before pressing a second one in.

“You say that a lot.” Dean laughs, pressing down again on Castiel. Castiel’s other hand moves to stroke gently at Dean’s flank.

“Really?” Castiel hums, his lips twitching upwards. Dean nods giddily as Castiel stretches out his fingers inside of the human. “That doesn’t surprise me.” He chortles quietly. “It’s very true.”

Dean sighs and presses his head back against the pillow as Castiel presses a third finger in. He stretches Dean out slowly, before adding a fourth finger—merely because he thinks that the sight of Dean like _this_ is more beautiful than anything he’s been gifted with beholding before.

“You think you’re ready?” He asks softly. Dean presses his elbows back against the mattress and sits up slightly.

“Yeah.” He nods quickly. “So ready.”

Castiel attempts not to smirk smugly at this, but it’s surprisingly difficult. He shifts himself inbetween Dean’s legs, tugging off most of his own clothing before hitching Dean’s legs up so that the backs of the human’s knees are resting on Castiel’s shoulders. He bends down and presses a kiss to Dean’s swollen lips. When he pulls back, Dean is looking up at him thickly through his dark brown eyelashes.

He grazes his thumb absently along the ridge of Dean’s hipbone.

“You look so beautiful like this.”

Dean’s cheeks prickle with red, but a soft and subtle smile twitches at the corners of his mouth.

“Thank you.” He ducks his gaze slightly, but Castiel presses his fingers to Dean’s chin and tilts his gaze back up to the angel’s face. He holds Dean’s flushed gaze for a moment before pulling down the last of his clothing and coating himself in the lube, pressing himself lightly to Dean’s entrance. The human tilts his head back at the teasing, eyes fluttering closed again, and lets out a frustrated growl.

“Cas, c’mon.” He groans.

Castiel chuckles for a moment.

“Impatient.” He observes quietly.

“Eager.” Dean corrects, looking back up into Castiel’s eyes. Castiel laughs and brushes his hand pointedly up the human’s aching cock. Dean groans again, and Castiel presses himself slowly inside the human.

For a moment, he is overcome by the impossible white-heat of Dean. How tight the human is around him, how _good_ it all feels. He comes to his senses and finds himself bottomed out inside the human, his face buried into Dean’s neck, the human’s hands pressing hard and headily against his back; nails scratching the angel’s skin lightly, knees still around Castiel’s neck.

“Fuck, Dean.” Castiel manages to stagger out, grinding into the human. Dean moans and tilts his head back to Castiel’s words, licking his lips slowly. Castiel can’t stop himself from leaning forward and kissing Dean again—noting with pleasure the happy sound the human makes against his mouth—as he pulls out then presses back in, again. He wishes he could recall more of what Dean enjoys the most—although perhaps rediscovering each of Dean’s kinks will be something he’ll be able to find great pleasure in, he thinks absently. Undoubtedly. He angles himself up a little. Wraps his free hand around Dean’s cock and pumps slowly, his other hand pressing against the bed.

 _“Fuck.”_ Dean breathes through his teeth, his chest rising and falling with increasing speed. Castiel seals his lips to Dean’s neck and presses open mouthed kisses to it, lathering his tongue across a particular spot before sucking hard, Dean whimpering beneath him as the pace of Castiel’s hips increases. The angel pulls back a moment, admiring his work, before pressing his open mouth to the juncture between Dean’s neck and shoulder and repeating the action. Dean’s nails are scraping down his spine lightly—except they stop a moment and Castiel frowns slightly, before Dean’s white-heat is clenching around Castiel and the human is spilling into Castiel’s closed fist.

“Cas—” Dean stutters a groan, head tilting back.

“So good, Dean.” Castiel applauds, his voice caught between a praise and a moan, and something taught inside of him snaps, and he comes inside of the human, the world turning a little white and hazy with pleasure for a moment.

He shudders a breath against Dean’s neck, realising he has placed his face there once more, and lets out an exhausted, happy groan. Dean repeats the sentiment. Castiel pulls himself out of Dean slowly, his breath still catching in his throat, watching as Dean’s chest rises and falls quickly, although its pace depleting slightly, and the human stares up at the ceiling, beaming widely.

“Good?” Castiel chuckles, letting Dean’s legs down slowly and lying down next to the human.

“Good.” Dean repeats, chuckling. “Although my hamstrings are aching to high heaven.” He laughs breathlessly. Castiel’s lips twitch upwards gently and he lets his fingers brush idly through the human’s soft hair. “And I have a feeling you’ve left more than a few marks on me—which are gonna show up for that family dinner, tomorrow.”

“Sorry.” Castiel chuckles quietly, dragging his thumb beneath Dean’s jaw.

“That’s fine.” The human shrugs, turning on his side to face Castiel. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

Castiel laughs gently and grazes his nose against Dean’s.

“Can I get you anything?” He asks. “A glass of cold water? A hot towel for your muscles?”

“Water would be awesome, thanks Cas.” Dean beams.

“And anything for your legs? Maybe a massage?”

“You’re spoiling me.” Dean rolls back over onto his back and laughs exhaustedly again.

“I like you spoiled.” Castiel reminds, chortling softly.

“Fine.” Dean giggles a little hazily. “A massage and some water.”

Castiel nods and presses a kiss to Dean’s forehead before rising out of the bed.

“Stay here.” He says gently, tapping Dean softly on the chest for a moment.

“Don’t think I’m able to move.” Dean giggles again.

“Don’t fall asleep.” Castiel instructs.

“Can’t promise anything.” Dean shakes his head exhaustedly. Castiel can’t help but smile as he heads down into the kitchen to pour Dean the cool glass of water. He returns to the room and lets out a pleased sound to see Dean still awake—although barely, his eyelashes fluttering slightly and eyelids drooping as he lies back against the bed, the covers not even pulled over him.

“Come on, Dean.” Castiel says softly, sitting the human up slowly and pressing the glass to his lips as he kneels down beside the bed. Dean tilts his head back and drinks, letting out a wrecked groan of appreciation. Castiel’s lips twitch upwards at the sound. “Keep drinking that.” He instructs, slipping Dean’s hands around the glass.

Dean nods as Castiel rises and grabs a small towel from the bathroom, wetting it with a little warm water before returning to the bedroom.

“You’re back.” Dean beams from the bed, his smile a little delirious and shattered with exhaustion.

“I’m back.” Castiel confirms, chortling quietly.

“I’ve finished the water.” Dean states.

“That’s good.” Castiel smiles, taking the glass from his hand and setting it onto a chest of drawers. “Now, let me clean you up.” He hums, sitting on the edge of the bed and grazing the warm towel against Dean’s skin. Dean lets out an appreciative groan at the touch. “Feels good?” Castiel asks, smiling absently.

“Feels good.” Dean confirms happily.

“I’m glad.” Castiel chuckles. “Turn over.”

Dean grumbles quietly but obeys.

“Massage?” Castiel asks, tapping at the backs of Dean’s thighs gently. The human stifles a moan into his pillow.

“Massage.” He nods. Castiel’s lips twitch upwards as he rubs Dean’s flesh in small, soft circles, slowly growing wider.

“Good?” He asks.

“Good.” Dean confirms. Castiel smiles and continues, his thumbs pressing firmly into Dean’s flesh.

“Feeling better?” He inquires.

“Feeling so good.” Dean laughs into his pillow.

Castiel chuckles and rolls Dean over again, nosing softly at Dean’s nose.

“That’s good.” He hums happily, lying back down next to Dean’s body again.

“Love you.” Dean sighs as his eyelids droop slowly closed.

“Love you, too.” Castiel returns, pressing a gentle kiss to Dean’s shoulder.

And he means it.

 


	20. More Dreams

 

_The door to Castiel and Ezekiel’s room swings dramatically open. Castiel glances up and raises his eyebrows at Dean as he staggers into the room, but this mild curiosity turns into bewilderment and concern at the sight of the human, split lipped, blood dripping onto his chin, a dark swelling around his right eye, nose bloodied and a cut on his cheek._

_“Dean!” Castiel exclaims, standing quickly. “Who did this to you? Are you okay? What happened?”_

_Dean blinks hard and laughs at the torrent of questions from Castiel’s lips, raising his knuckles to brush them briefly across the angel’s cheek—but Castiel grabs Dean’s wrist and tugs to gape and Dean’s hand—knuckles bloodied and red and swollen, blood caught underneath his nails._

_“Dean,” Castiel frowns, squeezing Dean’s hand, worry filling his system. “What happened?” He repeats._

_“A fight.” Dean shrugs carelessly, chuckling and sitting on the bed. “You have an ice-pack?” He asks with mild curiosity. “That’s what I came here for.”_

_“You’ve been_ beaten.” _Castiel frowns heavily, kneeling in front of Dean and examining the wounds on the human’s face. He swallows thickly, feeling a little ill, but Dean chuckles rough and low again and stands, brushing Castiel’s hands carefully off of him._

_“On the contrary, Cas,” Dean smirks softly, “I won.”_

_“You won?” Castiel raises his eyebrows as Dean grabs the first aid kit and rummages through it, making his way back to sit down on Castiel’s bed, again._

_“That so hard to believe?” Dean laughs, glancing up at Castiel, amusement etched across his features._

_“No,” Castiel frowns, shaking his head. “Not at all.”_

_“Well then, I won.” Dean chortles. “You got the ice-pack or not?” He asks, glancing back up at Castiel from the open first aid box sat on his lap._

_“Sorry,” Castiel shakes his head quickly, snapping himself out of his daze. “Yes.” He nods, opening the mini-freezer in their room and searching it frantically, before finding it._

_“Thanks.” Dean smiles as Castiel hands it to him. He tugs off his shirt, wrapping it around the pack and sticking it straight onto his black eye._

_“Is that your blood on your shirt?” Castiel asks. “Or your opponents?”_

_“Theirs, mostly.” Dean laughs._

_“Jesus Christ.” Castiel sighs, sitting down next to the human. “Give me that.” He tuts, tugging the ice-pack out of a still-giggling Dean’s hands. He places it gently over Dean’s face. “Who were you fighting with, anyway?”_

_“Oh, a couple o’ people.” Dean shrugs, his expression turning lazy and smug at the attention Castiel is showing him._

_“How many?” Castiel frowns._

_“About three.” Dean snorts proudly._

_“_ Three _?!”_

_“What, Cas? I’m good in a fight!” Dean laughs. “Good with my hands – you should know that!”_

_“Now really isn’t the time for innuendos, Dean.” Castiel puts his face in his palms and rolls his eyes._

_“Why not?” The human smirks._

_“You could get into serious trouble for this.” Castiel states, astounded that Dean hasn’t realised this._

_“That’s kinda unlikely.” Dean shrugs. “They’d get into more trouble.”_

_“Because it was three against one?” Castiel asks, raising his eyebrows at Dean again._

_“Yeah, and ‘cause I was acting in self-defence. And in the defence of someone else. So.”_

_“Who were you fighting?”_

_“You know that guy, Crowley?” Dean asks, pulling a Kleenex out of his pocket and pressing it to his still-bleeding nose. “Yeah, him and two of his guys.”_

_“You’re impossible.” Castiel sighs, rubbing his face exasperatedly._

_“It’s been said.” Dean chuckles._

_“You’re okay?” The angel asks, leaning forward to brush his fingers across Dean’s cheek. His eyes linger on the cut there for a moment._

_“I’m fine.” Dean laughs, shaking his head. “Don’t worry about me.”_

_“It’s in my nature to worry about you.” Castiel frowns._

_“Well, I’m not saying that I don’t find it cute when you do.” Dean’s lips twist into a gentle smile. “If I’d’ve known you’d be so concerned a few months back, I would’a got myself beat up more often.”_

_“It scares me how much you’d have done to gain my attention a few months ago.” Castiel rolls his eyes. Dean chuckles and leans forward to press a kiss to Castiel’s forehead._

_“Yeah, me too. Luckily for me, I have it now, so I don’t need to do anything stupid.”_

_“That doesn’t seem to stop you.” Castiel exhales. Dean’s lips are tugged upwards in amusement. “How did you get the cut on your cheek?” He frowns._

_“Crowley wears a lot of rings.” Dean explains. Castiel frowns. “Don’t worry about it, Cas,” He chuckles. “I wear one, too.” He gestures to his mother’s ring, sat safely on his middle finger. “And unlike those asses, I can throw a punch for shit.”_

_“I see.” Castiel nods, pulling back the ice-pack to examine Dean’s eye. “Is your lip okay?”_

_“My lip’s fine.” Dean laughs._ “I’m _fine. I’ve told you.”_

_“You don’t need looking after, I see.” Castiel chuckles, pulling his hand back from Dean’s face. Dean reaches and grabs it before it has had the time to fall back down to the angel’s side and has returned it to his cheek._

_“Yeah,” Dean nods. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t_ want _it.”_

Castiel stirs in his sleep, his eyes flickering open for a moment. He turns onto his side and feels Dean’s arms wrap themselves around his waist, Dean’s body curving around his.

“You okay?” The human asks, his voice muffled and rough by his own sleepiness. Castiel’s lips twitch upwards into a drowsy smile and he finds Dean’s hands, pressed against his belly, and squeezes them softly.

“Fine.” He confirms, his voice somewhat gravelly. “Memory.” He explains.

“Good or bad?” Dean asks.

“You coming to my room after being in a fight with someone.”

“When it was three against one?”

“That’s the one.” Castiel nods.

Dean snorts against Castiel’s neck.

“That’s a good one.” He chuckles softly.

“Really?” Castiel frowns in the darkness.

“Yeah,” Dean laughs. “Trust me, Cas—if you’d remember the guy I got in the fight with, you’d agree with me.”

“You’re an odd one, Dean.” Castiel sighs sleepily.

“Yeah, I’ve heard that one before.” Dean laughs drowsily, tugging Castiel back onto his back and resting his head on the angel’s bare chest. Castiel smiles at the touch, despite himself.

“I’m glad I have you.” The angel says gently. He feels Dean’s lips being tugged upwards into a bashful, sleepy grin against his flesh.

“And I’m glad I have you.” Dean returns, nuzzling into Castiel’s skin. The angel sighs softly and stares up at the ceiling, his eyes sliding slowly closed.

 _“Hey, Cas,” Dean grins, bending over the bed, his feet still on the floor. “Hey, Cas,” He says again, stretching his body out and sticking his ass in the air, his jeans stretching over it in the way he_ knows _Castiel likes. “It’s been kind of a long day, maybe we should call it and climb into bed.”_

_“Climb into bed?” Castiel asks, raising his eyebrows over to Dean from the oversized box he has been unpacking for the past half-hour. “And what do you propose we should do, then?”_

_“Oh,” Dean stretches himself out again, preening under Castiel’s gaze. “I don’t know.” He says in a mock-innocent voice. “That’d be entirely your choice, but…” He trails off in faux-thoughtfulness._

_“But…?” Castiel asks, his voice rumbling in amusement. A warm smile twitches at the corners of his lips. Dean pushes his ass higher into the air, on the very tips of his toes as he shoves his face further into the mattress, tilting it to the side to be able to speak to Castiel._

_“Maybe we should consummate our house-moving.” Dean suggests, grinning suggestively at Castiel. “Y’know, a kind of house-warming thing.”_

_Castiel laughs soft and low as he rises, treading over to Dean softly._

_“You think so?” He hums softly, rubbing his hand slowly over the swell of Dean’s ass. Dean presses himself upwards into the touch and exhales slowly._

_“Yeah, definitely.” He replies._

_“You_ do _look quite irresistible like that.” Castiel admits, humming out the words slowly as he palms at Dean’s ass. Dean beams and preens under the touch. “Maybe I should take you like this.” Castiel muses softly. “Your face buried in the covers, your ass sticking up so needily.”_

_“Maybe you should.” Dean replies._

_“But then, I don’t want to spoil you.” Castiel chuckles. “And so I can’t give you just what you want_ all _the time. I’ve got to keep you on your toes, after all.”_

 _“I_ am _on my toes.” Dean replies pointedly, stretching himself up further to prove his point._

_“No need to be rude, pet.” He reminds, suppressing his laughter at Dean's comment, and Dean presses his face back into the covers._

_“Cas,” He pleads softly, his voice turning into a gentle whine._

_“You’ve changed your tune rather quickly.” Castiel laughs quietly, reaching around Dean to unbuckle the human’s belt._

_“So that’s a yes?” Dean asks, his voice ridden with hope._

_“It’s a yes.” Castiel chuckles, slipping down Dean’s jeans to reveal the soft, freckled skin underneath._

_Dean turns his head and beams at Castiel, pressing himself further upwards._

_“We’ve moved in together.” He laughs giddily._

_“Yep,” Castiel confirms. “We have.”_

_“I’m so happy.” Dean’s voice catches in his throat as he laughs again._

_“I’m glad.” The angel beams, bending down to press a kiss to Dean’s thigh._

_“I love you.”_

_“I love you, too.”_


	21. Family Dinner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo sorry this chapter took so long. It's been an awfully busy time for me, of late, but the holidays are only days away so during my long break I will [hopefully] be able to update a lot quicker!
> 
> This story is probably going to be done by about chapter 25[ish. Maybe a bit later than that.], so there's really not very long until the end, now.
> 
> Conversely, if anyone would be interested in beta reading my next story, please do say! (and/or contact me.)
> 
> See the end of chapter for details and a summary of what that story is, and what it's going to entail.
> 
> You can also follow me on tumblr at ginnystiel for updates on the story and how its writing is coming along - you can also message me any time! I'll stop rambling now. Enjoy the chapter!

“So, Castiel, how have you been feeling?” Ellen asks, piling food onto Castiel’s plate. He sits beside Dean, at a long table in Ellen and Bobby’s dining room. Opposite him are Sam and Jo, and at either end of the table sit Ellen and Bobby. Rachel sits on the other side of Dean. “And you still like mac and cheese, right? I probably should’ve asked before you came round.” She laughs.

“Yes, I do.” The angel chuckles. “And better, thank you.” He nods, smiling at his husband’s adoptive mother. She returns the look warmly. It’s rather odd—but years ago, Castiel would never have imagined himself seated around a table with his sister and five other humans. What’s perhaps stranger is how much less Castiel minds this than he would have upon waking in the sterile hospital bed.

“That’s a relief.” Ellen chortles, heaping food onto Rachel’s plate. “Dean, have some salad.” She instructs, her tone turning oddly firm as she flicks her eyes onto Dean’s plate.

“Ellen, come on—”

“Nuh-uh, kiddo.” Ellen shakes her head firmly. “Salad. Now.”

“I’m not a kid anymore, you know.” Dean grumbles, serving himself a pitiful number of lettuce leaves.

“You could’ve fooled me.” Ellen rolls her eyes. “And you’re gonna need more than that, young man.”

Dean grumbles something incoherent and Ellen aims him a pointed glare.

“Don’t use that kind of language at the table, Dean.”

“You couldn’t even _hear_ me—”

“Yes, but I could guess.”

“Fucking hell.” Dean mutters under his breath, heaping a little more salad onto his plate. Ellen glares at him again, but Dean misses it because he is staring pointedly at the table. Castiel chuckles quietly and grazes the back of his hand against Dean’s.

“I thought we were gonna have meatloaf, tonight.” Sam frowns from where he sits. Ellen sighs and asks Bobby to take over serving out the food.

“We were, but Jo requested mac and cheese. And she asks nicer than the two of you boys.”

Sam snorts out a laugh and pours himself some water.

“Favouritism.” He fake-coughs into his hand.

“Only because I’m the most attractive kid.” Jo sticks her tongue out at Sam, who shoves her playfully, shaking his head and grinning. Castiel’s lips twitch softly upwards.

“I don’t get how you and your sister get along so well, Castiel.” Ellen sighs, running a tired hand through her hair. “These ones are _always_ at each-other’s throats.”

“We’re not at each other’s throats, mom,” Jo protests. “It’s just kidding around.”

“Last time you were ‘kidding around’, I ended up with a nosebleed and Sam broke a finger.” Dean counters from across the table.

“Really?” Castiel frowns. “How long ago was that?”

“Oh, probably a couple of months ago.” Ellen replies carelessly.

 _“Months?”_ Castiel repeats incredulously.

“I raised some incredibly mature kids.”

“Aw, come on, Ellen, give Bobby some credit, too.” Sam laughs. Bobby rolls his eyes from where he sits.

“Don’t drag me into this.” He shakes his head. “I came here to eat, and to eat only. Not to be dragged into some blame-game.”

“You and Rachel are horrifyingly mature in comparison to these three.” Ellen gestures vaguely to Sam, Dean and Jo.

“Cas is older than all of us.” Dean shrugs. “And Rachel—even though I’m older than her, Sam and Jo are younger. And emotionally, she _definitely_ has a maturity advantage.”

“Thanks for affirming my point, Dean.” Ellen attempts to sound tired, but the amusement curling at her voice diffuses any attempts at an annoyed tone.

“You’re welcome.” Dean grins cheekily in Ellen’s direction.

“So, Jo, how’s engineering going?” Rachel asks, steering the conversation in another direction. Sam snorts another laugh into his plate at this.

“Good, thanks.” Jo smiles. “A lot of fun.”

“It’s so wrong that you should put ‘fun’ and ‘engineering’ together.” Sam shakes his head, wrinkling his nose in mock-disgust. Jo giggles and shoves him playfully.

“Seriously though, Jo, don’t you think it’s a _little_ bit weird that you always found math and science so fun?”

“I always liked math.” Dean frowns. “And physics was fun in high school.”

“Physics is the worst science out of all of them!” Sam exclaims.

“No it isn’t!” Dean shakes his head.

“Oh really?” Sam crosses his arms defensively.

“Yeah, really.” Dean replies mocking his brother’s tone.

“What’s worse than physics?”

“I got one word for you, Sammy. _Chemistry.”_

“Are you kidding me?” Rachel laughs. “Chemistry is the only one that makes any _sense.”_

“None of them ever made any sense to me.” Castiel frowns. “I was always more of a humanities person.”

 _“Biology_ is the worst of all.” Jo states definitely, crossing her arms. “All that blood.” She wrinkles her nose.

“Careful where you tread, next, kiddo.” Ellen replies, her tone mocking that of warning.

“Why should she be careful?” Castiel asks, confused.

“Ellen’s a doctor.” Dean explains, laughing. Castiel chuckles softly. “So she gets to see ‘all that blood’ on a day-to-day basis.”

“Come on, mom, you never feel a _little_ bit ill cutting someone open?” Jo giggles.

“Or dissecting a limb?” Sam asks, a grin spreading across his features.

“Do you still hack it off with a blunt axe, like they did in the olden days?” Dean inquires, grinning widely.

“The next person to talk about anything moderately blood or gore-related is on dishes.” Bobby grumbles from the other end of the table. “Your mom might have the stomach for that kind of shit, but I certainly don’t.”

“Woah, Bobby,” Dean smirks. “Watch your language.”

“Rachel,” Bobby turns to Castiel’s sister, pointedly ignoring the laughter Dean’s comment has set around the table. “Would you mind awfully hitting Dean for me?”

Rachel bursts out into giggles, and Castiel cannot help but laugh, too.

“I’ll do it!” Jo volunteers loudly. This sets still more laughter onto the lips of those sat around the dinner table.

“This is what I meant by you and Rachel being more mature than my lot.” Ellen mutters to Castiel, rolling her eyes exasperatedly. Castiel chuckles and glances back at Dean, tangling his fingers with the human’s under the table. Dean’s face remains set into a smile, his happiness at Castiel’s touch otherwise indistinguishable, but the angel doesn’t miss the way his eyes crinkle a little more at their corners at Castiel’s hand pressed against his own. And Castiel doesn’t miss the way Dean squeezes his hand gently, his eyes turning so warm that Castiel thinks they have set the blood in his veins to a boil.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the summary for my next story:
> 
> I'm planning on it being a medieval-fantasy au, wherein angel and humans (once again) exist, but this time, along with demons. The story will follow Princes Dean and Castiel, their betrothal (a.k.a. the arranged marriage that they're both being forced into) and the way in which they grow to know and love each other over the years. That's all I'm going to say - there's a lot more, but I won't elaborate, partly because spoilers and partly because it's really damn complicated to go through everything I have mapped out.
> 
> It's going to be a long story - like, a really long story. Think big. Like, really big. So please bear that in mind.
> 
> If it's something you'd be interested in, please say, and please message me either here or on tumblr! Thanks for reading!


	22. Indulgences

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So much smut ahead. Like, don't even get me fucking started.  
> Warnings for: Exhibitionism, gagging, potential orgasm delay/denial, and restriction and oh dear lord I should probably go shower. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy.

 

_“What did you do last weekend?” Dean asks, his head pressed into Castiel’s lap. “I didn’t get to see you.”_

_“Oh, not much.” The angel shrugs lightly. He brushes Dean’s hair absently back from his forehead. The human beams at the touch. “I went to a protest, but that was it.”_

_“What was the protest on?” Dean asks, reaching up to tangle his fingers with Castiel’s. The angel laughs softly and squeezes Dean’s hand._

_“In one of the southern states an interracial couple were attacked.”_

_“Attacked?” Dean asks, a worried frown working at his features. “Were they okay?”_

_“They survived, if that’s what you mean.”_

_“That’s terrifying.” Dean states._

_“It is.” Castiel agrees absently._

_“They were attacked because they were an interracial couple?” Dean asks._

_“Because they were married, and a human and angel pairing, yes.” Castiel confirms._

_“That could happen to us, one day.” Dean states, his expression anxious._

_“We’re not married, Dean.” Castiel reminds. Dean’s face heats an instant red. His body goes tense and rigid, his expression mortified and uncomfortable._

_“No—I know—” He shakes his head, sputtering slightly. “—I just—all I meant was—”_

_Something like realisation dawns in Castiel’s heart._

_“Oh—” He stammers. “You meant—”_

_“I didn’t mean anything.” Dean shakes his head quickly again. “I was just being stupid—I didn’t mean—”_

_“Dean, can you see us being married, some day?” Castiel asks, his throat dry._

_“—I—“ Dean stammers. “I don’t—” He bites his lip and swallows hard. “Can you?” He asks, looking up into Castiel’s eyes, still utterly pink in the face. “Would you—I mean, would you ever_ want _to?”_

_“Would I ever want to marry you?” Castiel repeats. Dean nods, a nervous frown worming its way across his features. He considers a moment, carding his fingers absently through Dean’s soft hair. It’s not so much considering his answer to Dean’s question as how it is he should phrase it. He glances back into Dean’s beautiful, fearful eyes again. Of course, there’s really no question involved. “Of course I would, Dean.” He laughs gently. Dean’s face goes a little blank and unbelieving._

_“You—” He stammers._

_“I would.” The angel nods. “I definitely would. Would you?”_

_“I—are you sure?” Dean asks. “Do you mean that? Really?”_

_“I really mean it, Dean.” Castiel chuckles. “Not now, though, of course.”_

_“Of course?”_

_“Of course.” Castiel repeats. “Well, I’d want to do it properly.” He explains, after noting Dean’s questioning expression. “I’d want us to be living together—not me having to come and visit you every weekend while you’re in college. I’d want us to be a little older, too.”_

_“But you’d want to marry me?”_

_“I_ do _want to marry you.” Castiel laughs. “Just, eventually. There’s lots of things we should be doing inbetween now and then.”_

_“Like what?” Dean frowns._

_“Like you getting your degree, for starters.” Castiel chuckles, nudging Dean softly. “Like you becoming the best architect in the United States.”_

_“Shut up.” Dean laughs embarrassedly, shaking his head._

_“Does that answer your question?” Castiel asks. Dean’s lips twitch upwards._

_“Yeah, it does.” He nods softly._

_“You still haven’t answered, you know.” Castiel reminds._

_“What do you mean?” Dean frowns._

_“Would you want to marry me?” The angel asks, chortling gently. Dean nearly giggles in response._

_“Oh,” He grins. “Yeah.” He nods his head vigorously. “Definitely.”_

_Castiel chuckles and grazes his thumbs across Dean’s cheeks._

_“Cas,” Dean asks, his voice quite hoarse, “Did we just get engaged?”_

_“Yes, I think we just did.” Castiel laughs. Dean giggles happily again._

_“I really wanna marry you.” He confesses._

_“I really want to marry you, too.” Castiel replies, beaming._

_…_

_Dean and Castiel lie on the angel’s bed. They are tangling their fingers softly, Castiel beaming at Dean as he examines the constellations of freckles scattered across Dean’s cheeks. The angel doesn’t bother supressing his smile. He doesn’t need to hide how happy looking at Dean makes him, now._

_Of course, he feels the swelling urge to confess_ all _his feelings towards Dean, in this moment—and of course, this includes that_ word, _that word beginning with ‘L’ that Castiel can hardly bring himself to think about without a sickening nervousness fluttering through his system at the very idea—because what if Dean doesn’t feel like that, too? What if Castiel is nothing more than a crush, a passing fancy, enjoyable company, to the brown haired boy? What would Castiel do?_

_The thought isn’t worth perusing any further. Especially when it makes Castiel’s insides tremble with fear. He muses softly. Do they tremble with fear, or with something else entirely? Or with something caught between fear and something quite different?_

_“What’re you thinking about?” Dean asks, grazing his nose against Castiel’s. Castiel chuckles gently, despite himself, at the warm look caught on Dean’s features. He feels the human’s bare chest rising and falling steadily, pressed flush against his own. His time with Dean—like this—feels more intimate than anything he has ever known. It’s above the call of perfection._

_He and Dean have only been on a few dates. It’s odd, how quickly and seamlessly they have slipped into their rhythms together—but they just_ have. _The two of them fit. They fit better than Castiel could have ever imagined. And yes, it’s horrendously cliché, Castiel knows, but he doesn’t care. He and Dean work. And he loves how happy Dean looks when he’s around the angel. It makes something bright and warm curl in Castiel’s heart just to_ think _about._

_“You.” Castiel replies, his lips twitching upwards. The tip of Dean’s nose tinges with a gentle pink and he rolls his eyes, laughing softly. “No, really.” Castiel chuckles. “I was thinking about how perfect things are, with you.”_

_“You think they’re perfect?” Dean asks quietly, a nervous beam spreading across his features._

_“Yes,” Castiel chortles. “Very. Do you?”_

_“Of course I think things are perfect, Cas.” Dean rolls his eyes again._

_“That’s reassuring.” The angel chuckles, grazing his thumb softly across Dean’s cheek again._

_Castiel still hasn’t broached the subject of his relationship with Dean—and its newly evolved state—with Ezekiel, just yet. Honestly, since the fight the two of them had—the fight which led to Castiel storming out onto the corridor and to Castiel kissing Dean again—he and Ezekiel haven’t been speaking all that much. Ezekiel hasn’t really_ allowed _Castiel to speak to him in much more than single-word sentences. And he hasn’t had Dean back around their dorm to play video games with him—perhaps convinced that Dean feels too uncomfortable around Castiel after everything. Little he knows, Castiel snorts lightly to himself. Dean and Castiel are now_ very _comfortable around each other. As though reading the angel’s thoughts, Dean’s hand grazes pointedly up Castiel’s side. The angel chuckles softly._

 _It’s been over a week. Nearly two weeks—in fact, two weeks, tomorrow. Castiel really_ should _tell his roommate. But not now._

_The angel and Dean have been lying like this for Castiel-doesn’t-quite-know-how-many-hours. Usually, activities of this kind are kept in Dean’s room—but as it is, Ezekiel is at the movies with friends, and Castiel and Dean have been able to spend the most wonderful time together, in only each other’s glorious company, in the comfort of Castiel’s own room._

_He feels the swell of his confession of further affection for Dean press at his lips again. He resists the urge to pour his heart out to the younger boy. These are early days. They’re early days, and Castiel cannot bring himself to think what he would do if Dean did not return these affections._

_“Are you free tomorrow?” Dean asks, his fingers stroking tenderly through the angel’s hair. Castiel’s lips twitch upwards._

_“Yes,” He nods. “I am. Well,” He corrects himself. “In the afternoon. What time did you have in mind?”_

_“Afternoon’s fine.” Dean shrugs. “What do you wanna do?”_

_Castiel hums thoughtfully and pushes the hairs lightly off of Dean’s face._

_“Anything with you.” He beams._

_“That’s cute, Cas, but not very helpful.”_

_Castiel chuckles and grazes his nose across Dean’s._

_“I don’t know, we could—”_

_The door swings suddenly open, interrupting the angel mid-sentence,_

_“Cassie, listen—” Ezekiel starts, before stopping dead in his tracks and staring, wide-eyed, at Castiel and Dean. Dean has frozen, his body has gone taught and stiff, and Castiel is fairly certain his has done the same from discomfort. “—Oh, for fucks sake!” Ezekiel rolls his eyes, looking slightly disgusted, and turns on his heel, slamming the door behind him._

_“Shit,” Castiel mutters, scrambling out of the bed. Dean looks up at him with wide worried eyes, veiled with an emotion Castiel doesn’t quite recognise. “Wait here.” He mutters to Dean, tripping as he attempts to pull on a pair of boxers. He doesn’t bother sporting any more clothing before dashing out onto the corridor and after Ezekiel._

_“Ezekiel, wait—” He starts, catching up with the other angel and holding out his hand to Ezekiel’s arm. The angel turns around, his face a bright red, and glares at Castiel._

_“How long?” He asks, glowering at his roommate. Castiel swallows uncomfortably. “How long have you and Dean been—” He cuts himself off, glaring at the ground instead of at Castiel’s face._

_“Nearly two weeks.” Castiel confesses. There’s no use in lying, and honestly, he_ had _been planning on telling Ezekiel sooner or later._

_“Two weeks?” Ezekiel raises his eyebrows at Castiel. The angel cannot tell what the sentiment behind this action is._

_“Nearly.” Castiel nods._

_“So when you and I had that fight—”_

_“Before I stormed out?” Castiel asks. “I uh—I stamped out onto the corridor, and Dean was there—and I kissed him.”_

_“And that was the first time the two of you kissed?” Ezekiel inquires._

_“No,” Castiel admits, rubbing his forearm lightly as a breeze floats down the corridor and causes pinpricks to rise on his skin, his hairs standing on end. He shifts his weight uncomfortably from his right foot to his left, his wings bristling uncomfortably in the chill of the—fortunately deserted—corridor. “It wasn’t.”_

_“When else?”_

_“The night before—that was when Dean had come round, looking for you. But—”_

_“But he stayed anyway, and you kissed him.” Ezekiel sighs, rolling his eyes frustratedly. Something defensive curls in Castiel’s heart._

_“No,” He frowns again. “We kissed each other.”_

_“Oh, really?” Ezekiel raises his eyebrows at Castiel._

_“Why is that so unbelievable?” Castiel glares._

_“Cassie, have you even_ seen _the way Dean used to act around you?” Ezekiel asks, before sighing pointedly again. “You know what, you probably did—apparently you’ve seen_ way _more of that kid than I’d have ever anticipated—” Castiel feels his jaw clench at Ezekiel’s words. “—Anyway, that’s not the point—do you honestly expect me to believe that Dean made the first move?”_

_“Well, I never said that—” Castiel glowers, before cutting himself off. “What I’m saying is,” He presses his fingertips to his forehead and rubs softly, feeling the onset of a headache coming on. “He reciprocated. And I asked him first, anyway.”_

_“You_ asked _to kiss him?” Ezekiel snorts, despite himself._

_“Yes,” Castiel frowns. “We were drunk—and anyway, wouldn’t you rather that I got his confirmation as opposed to just leaning in and potentially doing something to him he wasn’t up for?”_

_“There’s a little something called reading signals, Casti—”_

_“Fucking hell.” Castiel sighs pointedly, interrupting the other angel and his mocking smirk. “Listen,_ that _night, that night was the first time I’d ever kissed Dean.”_

 _“And_ that’s _why he was so uncomfortable the next day?”_

_“I think he was afraid I regretted it.” Castiel admits._

_“You_ think?”

_“He told me.” Castiel sighs._

_“So, all this time—all your hating Dean—”_

_“I never hated Dean—” Castiel frowns._

_“—You could’ve fooled me.” The other angel snorts. “Anyway, so you being so cold to Dean—you pulling all those ‘holier than thou’ faces while he and I played video games—all of that was due to extreme sexual tension? Or rather, your own utterly repressed sexual feelings towards him?”_

_“They weren’t just sexual feelings…” Castiel mutters uncomfortably. Ezekiel actually_ barks _out a laugh at this._

 _“Are you fucking kidding me, Cassie?” The angels eyes begin to cloud over with tears of mirth. “You_ like- _like him?!”_

_“Why is that so unbelievable?” Castiel glares at his roommate. “And why do you find it so amusing?”_

_“Because it’s_ you, _Castiel. You’re the_ last _person,_ ever— _you know what? Why do I even have to explain this to you? You know yourself better than anyone—do you know what? Why do I even have to explain this to you? You know yourself better than anyone—why do_ you _think I’m so surprised?”_

_“Because you’re an ass.” Castiel’s jaw clenches._

_“Oh, fuck off.” Ezekiel merely laughs in response, brushing Castiel’s insult aside. “Wait—” He looks back at Castiel’s face, suddenly. “If you went and kissed Dean again outside our room after our fight—does that mean it was_ me _who gave you the proverbial push into doing it? And if so—is it thanks to me that the two of you are an item, now?”_

_Castiel glares at the ground instead of at Ezekiel._

_“It_ is!” _He exclaims excitedly. “This is fucking awesome, Cassie, I’m like a freakin’ matchmaker, or whatever—”_

_“An unintentional matchmaker.” Castiel corrects. The other angel merely snorts._

_“Whatever.” He shrugs nonchalantly._

_“You’re okay with it, then?” Castiel asks uncertainly, raising his eyebrows slightly at the other angel. His wings bristle uncomfortably again, but Ezekiel maintains his careless expression._

_“Well, it wouldn’t really be my place to be_ not _okay with it, would it?” He asks. Something inside of Castiel settles with relief. “Well, unless something truly shitty was going on. But by the looks of it, the two of you are getting along disgustingly well.”_

_Castiel’s ears prickle with pink._

_“Just—” Ezekiel sighs a moment. “Just put a sign on the door when he and you are—” He makes a vague, uncomfortable gesture. “One time—one time is more than enough, Cassie.”_

_Castiel’s lips twitch upwards._

_“Of course.” He nods._

_“Dean’s gonna be spending a lot more time around our dorm, isn’t he?” Ezekiel asks, smirking softly._

_“I certainly hope so.” Castiel admits, his cheeks going a little pink._

_“At least this explains why you’ve been spending so many nights in some ‘mystery person’s’ room.” Ezekiel chuckles lightly. “I’m gonna hazard a guess and say you were staying over at Dean’s?”_

_“That would be correct.” Castiel confirms, his face prickling with embarrassment. “Can we move on, now, please?”_

_“Sure,” Ezekiel laughs. “Just be sure to make me best man at your wedding.” He snorts._

“Ezekiel—”

_“What?” The angel chortles. “It was thanks to me the two of you got together, in the first place!”_

_“’Zeke, please—”_

_“Cassie, I’m only joking.” Ezekiel laughs, clapping his hand onto the other angel’s bare shoulder. “On the other hand, though, I’m really kind of not. So I’ll_ definitely _be expecting an invitation through my letterbox in a few years’ time. No need to rush things, after all.” He snorts. “Half the fun is in the journey, as they say.”_

_“I’ve never heard anyone say that.” Castiel frowns._

_“Whatever, man.” Ezekiel chuckles again, removing his hand from the other angel’s shoulder. “One more thing, though, Castiel,” He says, pulling a far more serious, sombre expression._

_“What is it?” Castiel asks, raising his eyebrows slightly nervously at Ezekiel._

_“Put some fucking clothes on.” Ezekiel snorts. Castiel rolls his eyes and supresses the smile tugging his lips upwards and attempting to pull laughter from his mouth._

_“Is that your way of giving the relationship your blessing?” He smirks._

_“Call it whatever the hell you want.” Ezekiel shrugs careless. “Just don’t get too sappy in my presence. It’s like watching your brother get off with someone.” He wrinkles his nose. “Not nice.”_

_“Duly noted.” Castiel chuckles. He turns on his heel and sprints back down the corridor, swinging open the door to his room. Dean is sitting worriedly on the bed, the sheets pulled around his lap, effectively covering up his nakedness._

_“Do you want to end it?” Dean asks, his face anxious and balanced on the knife’s edge before distress as he glances up at Castiel. “Do you want to end things with me?”_

_“No,” Castiel frowns, shaking his head. “Why would I want to do that?”_

_“I don’t know.” Dean admits, looking down. “I just—I thought you might’ve wanted to keep it secret. That_ that _was where the real thrill of things came in.”_

_“No.” Castiel shakes his head again. “That’s not the case, at all.”_

_“It’s not?” Dean asks, looking up at the angel with hopeful features. Castiel’s lips twitch gently upwards._

_“Of course.” He replies earnestly. “Of course that’s not the case. I—” He cuts himself off. He had been seconds away from confessing his_ true _feelings toward Dean. And he couldn’t do that. He couldn’t possibly. Ever. “—I would never do that.” Castiel repeats again, swallowing hard. Dean’s lips twitch upwards. His face breaks with relief._

_“Thank fuck,” He breathes out a shallow laugh, throat cracked. “—I was—I was afraid—”_

_“I know.” Castiel nods, sitting beside Dean and winding his arm round the human’s shoulder. Dean sighs and leans into the angel’s body. “But you shouldn’t have been. Not at all.”_

_“It was kind of a cute moment before Ezekiel interrupted it.” Dean laughs softly._

_“Yes,” Castiel nods, chuckling lightly. “It certainly was.”_

_“Fucking Ezekiel.” Dean laughs._

_“Fucking Ezekiel.” Castiel agrees absently._

_“Was he at all pissed off about everything?” Dean asked, lifting his head slightly to look up at the angel, his voice somewhat concerned._

_“Not massively,” Castiel shakes his head. “More concerned that I’d take advantage of you, in some way, I think.”_

_“But you’d never do that.” Dean mumbles happily. Castiel squeezes Dean’s side._

_“Never.” He confirms. “And of course, once he’d found out that that wasn’t the case, he was mainly concerned about making sure I knew to put a sign on the door, in the future.”_

_“So he knows when not to come in?”_

_“So he knows when not to come in.” Castiel nods softly. “He was primarily merely pissed off about walking in on the two of us without any clothes on, I believe.”_

_“Speaking of,” Dean chuckles, slipping his thumb underneath the elastic of Castiel’s waistband. “Maybe that’s a state we should go back to.”_

_“You’re terrible,” Castiel shakes his head, laughing lightly as his eyes crinkle at their corners._

_“Is that a no?” Dean asks. “’Cause if it is, then I’m gonna get dressed, too—in the view of equality, and all—”_

_“Shut up.” Castiel laughs, pulling off his boxers and sitting back onto the bed, tugging Dean onto his lap. His thumbs graze absently at the ridges of Dean’s hipbones as he leans back onto the bed before rolling Dean over. He adores the way Dean hums against his mouth appreciatively, the way his hands move to fist at the angel’s hair, the way his jaw grows slack as the two of them continue kissing, allowing Castiel full access to his mouth. Castiel adores Dean. Every element of him._

_…_

Dean presses a sleepy kiss to Castiel’s chest. The angel stirs slightly, his fingers tangling in Dean’s hair.

“You awake?” Dean hums against Castiel’s chest, grazing his lips against the angel’s flesh once more.

“I am, now.” Castiel nods. Dean makes another happy humming sound against Castiel’s skin. “What time is it?” He asks frowning at the darkness of the room.

“Early.” Dean mumbles. “But I wanna do some stuff.”

“And what is that ‘stuff’?” Castiel asks, feeling amusement curling at his voice.

“Whatever you want, Cas.” Dean laughs, pressing another kiss to Castiel. “You’re the one with morning wood.”

Castiel’s gaze snaps down. “—What—”

“Nothin’ to be embarrassed of.” Dean reminds, chuckling soft and low. “Nothin’ I haven’t seen before, after all.”

Castiel rolls his eyes in the darkness, tilting his head back and laughing warmly.

“So,” Dean grins, apparently elated that he has been able to pull this response from Castiel’s lips. “What do you wanna do?”

“Kiss you, to begin with.” Castiel chuckles, rolling Dean over and crashing his lips on top of the human’s. Dean makes a happy sound at the back of his throat, his fingers grazing up Castiel’s spine, and the angel beams against Dean’s mouth, his hands slipping up Dean’s chest. “And then,” Castiel muses quietly. “I think I want to attempt to figure out some of your kinks.”

“My kinks?”

“What makes you tick.”

“I know what it means—” Dean frowns indignantly at Castiel, who grazes his nose lightly against the human’s. “—I just—” He stammers slightly. “Why—?”

“Is it so very odd that I should want to please you as much as possible?” Castiel chuckles softly. Dean blushes in the darkness, and the angel cannot help but find it utterly endearing.

“No,” He shakes his head quickly, frowning. “—It’s just that—”

“—Just that what?”

“I kind of wanted this to be about _you._ Me making _you_ happy.”

Castiel breaks out into an unhesitant, adoring beam.

“And it warms my heart that you should wish to do so, Dean.” Castiel hums, his voice rough with affectionate gravel. “But you ought to understand by now, at least, that seeing you happy makes me _very_ happy.”

Dean’s blush deepens further still.

“Cas, I—”

“Don’t speak.” Castiel mumbles softly, pressing a gentle kiss to Dean’s lips. “Unless it’s to tell me whether or not you like something. I think I’d like you quiet, this time.”

Dean shudders out a groan and closes his mouth, as per Castiel’s instruction, his eyes fluttering closed. Castiel presses kisses down Dean’s bare chest and pauses a moment to take Dean’s nipple into his mouth, flicking his tongue over its sensitive tip and noting with something mirroring glee the way in which the human trembles beneath him.

“That’s interesting.” Castiel hums softly, mocking thoughtfulness as he seals his mouth to Dean’s other nipple and repeats the action, gauging his husband’s reaction. “That’s very interesting.”

Dean’s hand shifts to Castiel’s head and his fingers wind through the angel’s hair. Castiel beams at the touch and continues pressing open-mouthed kisses up and down Dean’s torso, adoring the way he shudders beneath the angel’s lips.

“I also seem to recall you like me marking you.” Castiel smirks slightly as he glances back up at Dean again. He watches smugly as Dean’s breath seems to catch in his throat, his breath hitching a moment as something in his eyes darkens. “Is that correct?”

“Um—” Dean sputters out. “Yeah—you’d be recalling correctly.”

Castiel’s smirk widens a little more.

“And why do you think you like it so much?”

The angel has a pretty strong feeling that he already knows why exactly Dean likes Castiel sealing his lips to his skin and sucking hot marks all over it; but something about Dean confessing why it gives him so much pleasure has arousal thrumming all over Castiel’s frame, prickling the skin around his lower torso and sending electricity darting in eager sparks down his body.

“Um—” Dean is blushing furiously, and Castiel can make it out, even in the darkness. “I like—I—” He glances away, his face flushed with embarrassment. “C’mon, Cas, do I have to say?”

Castiel squeezes Dean’s sides and pins his legs to either side of Dean’s body. He lets out a soft growling sound at the back of his throat, a warning, and Dean moans at the sound, tilting his head back as he shudders and attempts to lift his hips up to meet Castiel’s, apparently desperate for some kind of friction against his now aching arousal.

“Fine—” Dean stammers, pursing his lips a little childishly—an expression so adorably indignant it has warmth curling across the entirety of Castiel’s frame. “I—I like being marked by you—‘cause—Cas, you _know_ why—”

Castiel growls again, squeezing his legs against Dean’s body. Dean shudders beneath the angel, eyes fluttering closed, a still mortified expression flushed full across his features.

“—Because it makes me feel _owned—_ by you—and I like it—I like knowing that I’m _yours,_ knowing that I belong—it makes me feel—” Castiel grazes his hand against Dean’s cock in reward as he speaks each of these beautiful confessions. “—Ah, fuck,” Dean groans, tilting his head back. “It makes me feel safe and happy and loved and _so good—”_

Dean’s hips buck upwards into Castiel’s now closed fist around his cock, and Castiel pressing them back down, firmly, against the bed. Dean lets a desperate whine escape his lips at this, and Castiel removes all of himself from Dean’s body, save for the fact that he is still straddling Dean’s waist, and bends down to press more open-mouthed kisses to Dean’s flushed skin.

“Good.” Castiel hums approvingly. “Now tell me, Dean, was that so very hard?”

“It was _embarrassing.”_ Dean scowls slightly, frowning indignantly up at Castiel. The angel chuckles softly and grazes his hand underneath Dean’s jaw, which falls slack under the silent instruction.

“But you enjoy embarrassing.” Castiel chuckles gently, bending down once again to suck a mark onto the juncture between Dean’s neck and his jaw, revelling in the way Dean moans and trembles beneath his lips. “I can remember that, too.”

Dean groans lightly again, the sound caught in breathiness as he closes his eyes again.

“You’re being a damn tease.” He grumbles.

“I thought I said I wanted you quiet.”

Dean growls in frustration but snaps his mouth shut pointedly, lifting his head to glare in annoyance at the angel on top of him.

“Perhaps I ought to gag you.” Castiel muses quietly, grazing the pad of his thumb against Dean’s bottom lip. “I mean, for one thing, I know how much you’d enjoy it—but for another, it ought to keep you from becoming a little too rude.”

Dean only whines again from beneath Castiel. His eyes have gone wide and pleading.

“Is that a yes?” Castiel raises his eyebrows at the human, pressing at Dean’s jaw again, to indicate that he wants the younger man to answer him.

“It’s a yes please.” Dean nods, his chest rising and falling with increased pace. Castiel’s lips twitch upwards. He glances over to the clock on the bedside table, noting the time and assessing what they have time to do.

“Six fifteen.” Castiel chuckles lightly. “You really _did_ leave enough time for this.”

Dean remains obediently silent, only allowing his lips to twitch upwards into a pleased, small smile at Castiel’s praising tone. The angel beams at the sight, bending down to press a kiss to the tip of Dean’s nose.

“Good.” Castiel hums lightly, grazing his thumb across Dean’s cheek before rising and opening a drawer he knows to be filled with ties. He picks a familiar looking dark blue one, and glances over to Dean to see him still stretched out obediently on the bed, his eyes wide as he glances at the tie, then back at Castiel’s face. “I suppose this is something of a favourite, then?” He raises his eyebrows at Dean, smirking softly at the desperate look etched across the man’s face. As per Castiel’s instruction, Dean still doesn’t reply, and Castiel coos applaudingly. “Very good.” Castiel hums lightly, making his way back over to Dean, who sits up without needing instruction to do so to allow Castiel to tie the makeshift gag around his head, slipping the material into his mouth.

“You look good like this.” Castiel nearly growls out, straddling Dean’s body again and pushing him down, back against the bed. “Hold your hands above your head.” He instructs quietly. “You’re not allowed to touch. If you do, I’ll stop straight away. If you _want_ to stop, snap your fingers, and I’ll stop straight away.” He informs his husband firmly. Dean’s eyes remained trained headily on the angel’s. “Sounds good?” Castiel asks. Dean nods twice, his chest rising and falling in fast, heavy breaths. “Good.” Castiel hums. Dean’s hands stretch obediently above his head, where he holds them tightly in place, and Castiel bends down to kiss up and down the length of Dean, revelling in the way the man shudders and whimpers beneath him.

He presses his mouth to Dean’s balls and inhales their heavy, musky scent, letting out a gentle and happy sigh as Dean’s audible groan sounds above his head. Then he trails his tongue softly from here to the very tip of Dean’s cock, tonguing at the slit a moment before winding his tongue around Dean’s head, flicking it experimentally—Dean certainly seems to approve of this—a loud cry escapes his lips and his hip buck upwards towards Castiel, but the angel anticipates this and withdraws from Dean’s dick.

“Only on my terms, Dean.” He reminds, squeezing the human’s cock a moment before pressing his mouth back along Dean’s shaft, gauging the reaction that this act earns him. He presses open mouthed kisses along every inch of it, before Dean has become a trembling, shuddering, whimpering mess beneath him, and the sight is too gorgeous for Castiel to ignore any longer.

“Where do we keep our plugs, Dean?” He asks softly, glancing up at the human. Dean’s eyes go wide and he gapes around the gag, spreading his legs marginally at the mere thought of such a presence, such a breach of his body. He glances over to the second drawer beside their bed, and Castiel smiles approvingly, squeezing Dean’s hips gently before getting up again to examine the drawer’s contents. He extracts the lube first, smirking softly as he notes each of the items—or indeed, toys—scattered along the inside of the drawer, before pulling out a slender blue plug with a flared head.

“This one will match the tie.” He chuckles softly. Dean groans around the gag in question, pressing his head back against his pillow as Castiel returns by his side, pressing his hand to the inside of Dean’s thigh, silently instructing him to open his legs wide. Dean obeys unquestioningly. Castiel coos in response.

He slicks up his fingers with the lube, smirking at the sight of Dean’s cock, precome leaking from its tip, and presses the pad of his index finger to Dean’s hole. Dean keens lightly in response.

“I could draw this out, Dean,” Castiel explains, slipping the digit inside of his husband’s body. “You know, make it almost painful. Make it almost impossible for you to stop yourself from coming—I could keep you so agonisingly close to the edge for so long that you’d be reduced to nothing more to a gibbering wreck.”

Dean groans at the thought, his eyes fluttering closed.

“And you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Castiel smirks lightly. Dean nods quickly, laboured breaths falling from his restricted lips. “You’d love it. I could build you up to that state—force tears from your eyes out of desperate need for completion—and then I could tell you that that’s all; that it’s over and that I don’t want you to finish yourself off. I could leave you alone to go to work in such a frantic condition, and you would. And it’d terrify you—but you’d love it, wouldn’t you, Dean?” Castiel raises his eyebrows at the human, whose eyes are squeezed so tightly shut that tears are being forced out of them already as Castiel slides his finger in and out of Dean with painful leisureliness. “And then I could force you to have this” Castiel taps the plug against the inside of Dean’s thigh, “pressed inside of you all day, filling you up for me, keeping you open—just for the _possibility_ of me filling you up when you get home. You’d have to sit with it inside of you, all day. In all your meetings, during your lunch break—even when meeting clients.”

Dean lets out a broken sob at the thought, moaning loudly around the gag. His hips buck upwards again, and Castiel slips another finger inside of his body.

“And you’d love it, wouldn’t you, Dean?” Castiel smirks softly. “You’d love how dirty it made you feel, how much it reminded you of the fact that you’re _mine,”_ He punctuates this statement with pressing a third finger harshly inside of Dean’s body, and Dean lets out a startled sound of surprise. “And when you came home, you’d be so desperate for it. So broken from a day of being filled but so constantly denied. And all I would have to do is _kiss you,_ and tell you that you have my _permission,_ and you’d be coming in your pants, completely untouched.”

Dean cries out as Castiel stretches his fingers out pointedly inside of Dean.

“Do you want that? Would you like that?”

Dean can only whimper around the gag, lost to the angel’s touches.

“I think I’d make you wear this tie to work, as well, just to watch you squirm at the knowledge that only hours previously, it was wrapped so sinfully around your mouth.”

Dean’s hands are trembling—Castiel can tell that he is desperate to move them—to touch Castiel or himself or maybe even both, but to his credit, Dean does neither, only allowing the soft whimpering sounds to escape his lips. Castiel hums approvingly and slips a fourth finger inside of Dean’s body.

“I think you’re ready.” Castiel hums thoughtfully, pulling his fingers out of Dean and slicking up the plug instead. He glances up at the human’s face before pressing it inside of Dean’s body. “I think I’m going to draw this out as much as possible.” The angel mumbles gently. Dean whines once again from underneath the gag.

“But then,” Castiel muses quietly, “I think I’d feel rather guilty knowing I’d left you in such a desperate condition when you’d been so good for me. When you’d looked so pretty.”

Dean groans around the tie.

“Also,” Castiel continues, smirking lightly as he flicks the plug inside of Dean—Dean’s entire body jerks violently at the touch, “It may have escaped your notice, Dean, but this plug has a vibrate setting.”

Dean’s body stills somewhat.

“Do you like the idea of putting that to use?” Castiel asks softly. Dean swallows thickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down, before nodding once, his eyes blown wide with lust. Castiel hums happily. “I think I like that idea too.” He nods gently, flicking the switch at the base of the plug and watching as Dean’s eyes flutter closed once again. He exhales softly through his teeth. “You _do_ look good like this.” He admits, grazing his hand against Dean’s cock, before taking the whole thing inside of his mouth. He bobs his head up and down, flicking his tongue over Dean’s head, noting and memorising each of the whimpering and moaning sounds Dean makes at every one of the touches. He sucks harder, then softer, then harder again, before swallowing Dean down further and rubbing his thumb and forefinger gently over Dean’s balls. The touch is apparently enough to send the human over the edge—he comes with a loud cry, muffled by the gag, but which curiously resembles Castiel’s name rather a lot, and spills down the angel’s throat, the angel swallowing all of Dean’s orgasm down.

He pulls away, licking away the last of Dean’s come from the head of his dick, before kissing it gently and switching off the plug inside the man’s body.

“Was that good?” Castiel asks, smirking softly. Dean still cannot speak audibly—he merely slurs out another groan and tips his head back against the bed, his eyes fluttering closed again. Castiel moves himself up to remove the gag from Dean’s mouth.

“Fuck,” Dean moans as soon as his lips are freed.

“That good?” The angel smirks softly as Dean runs an exhausted hand through his hair.

“That good.” Dean nods in confirmation. “I can speak again?” He asks, looking up questioningly into the angel’s eyes. Castiel beams and presses a kiss to Dean’s delicate lips, the touch tender and barely-there.

“Of course.” He nods softly, grazing the pad of his thumb against Dean’s cheek. “You were so good, Dean.” He applauds gently. “So good for me. I’m so proud of you.”

“For what?” Dean laughs exhaustedly.

“For staying quiet, for staying still—or, relatively so,” Castiel chuckles softly, grazing his nose against Dean’s. “For not touching when I told you not to.”

Dean’s lips twitch upwards into a shy smile.

“Did you mean what you said about me going to work with this thing”—He taps the plug still stretched inside of him—“inside of me? ‘Cause—”

“Only if you want to, Dean.” Castiel says gently, pressing another kiss to the tip of Dean’s nose. Dean preens at the touch, an unhesitant beam spreading across his features.

“I think I want to.” Dean nods. “That thought—it’s kind of really hot, you know?”

“ ’Kind of really hot?’ ” Castiel repeats, smirking slightly.

“Shut up.” Dean shakes his head, looking away and grinning exasperatedly.

“Alright,” Castiel nods. Dean’s gaze flickers back to the angel’s face. “How about this—you go to work with it inside of you. But you keep me updated on how you’re doing—and if at any time you feel like it’s got too much, you text me, or call me, and tell me that it’s coming out. And then you take it out. I mean it, Dean—if you don’t think you can, anymore, you stop.”

“I know how it works, Cas.” Dean frowns indignantly, but Castiel taps firmly underneath the human’s jaw, which snaps obediently shut, despite Dean’s continued childish frowning at the angel.

“Can you tell me that you understand?” Castiel raises his eyebrows at Dean.

“I understand.” Dean nods.

“I won’t be disappointed.” The angel reminds. “You’ve already exceeded a countless number of my expectations, today.”

Dean blushes furiously at the angel’s praise.

“Okay,” He nods, face red. “Just let me get cleaned up and ready for work. I need a damn shower, after all that.”

“It doesn’t surprise me.” Castiel smirks softly. He presses another kiss to Dean’s swollen lips.

“Would you care to join me?” Dean asks, raising his eyebrows questioningly at the angel. Castiel’s lips twitch quietly upwards. “You still haven’t been indulged today, after all.”

“Oh, watching you just now was indulgence enough.” Castiel laughs gently. “But if you’re offering more still, I can’t say that I’ll be caught complaining.”

Dean beams and giggles a little hazily, lifting his head to press another kiss to the angel’s lips. Castiel rises and tugs Dean to his feet, and Dean tangles their hands together as they both make their way into the shower.


	23. Long Days and Bad Trips

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Drug use ahead and recollection of a bad trip. You have been warned. (Also, as seems increasingly frequent, some moderately sexual content up ahead. Woo.)
> 
> I haven't proof read this chapter at all because ah, fuck it, so it might be kinda crap in the whole riddled-with-mistakes respect. I hope you enjoy, anyway. And if you celebrate it, happy Christmas eve! I hope you all have a great time!

 

            - _You’re an asshole_

Castiel smirks softly at the text from Dean when he receives it. He types out a response quickly.

            _-Is that your way of telling me you’re done?_

_-Fuck, no.  
            -I’m just a little, y’know, dead._

_-Why’s that?_

Dean’s response makes Castiel snort:

 _-You_ know _why_

            _-You sound angry_

_-More like really fucking horny. And tired. And tired of being horny._

_-You’ll be rewarded when you get home_

_-Is that a promise?_

_-It’s a promise_

_-Good. I’m fucking dying out here._

_-I’m sure you’re exaggerating._

_-Yeah, maybe you should try it sometime  
-You dick._

Castiel chuckles gently at Dean’s texts.

 _-You_ are _angry_

_-The work day can’t end soon enough, Cas.  
 _

 …

 

“Fuck,” Dean mutters, lying back on the couch as Castiel takes a damp cloth and dabs it across his sweat-slick skin, dappled with the milky-white of human’s own completion. “You have no idea how hard it was waiting for that, all day.”

“No,” Castiel chuckles lightly, shaking his head and pressing a soft kiss to Dean’s collarbone. “But I can imagine.” He grazes the cloth down Dean’s chest, watching as droplets of water chase other droplets, following one another down the lines and ridges and dips and curves of Dean’s skin. He smiles absently at the sight. “And I’m so proud of you for it—so impressed. I hadn’t thought it possible.”

“I think I’m gonna pass out.” Dean laughs breathlessly; his head lolling back against one of the cushions. Castiel chuckles gently and pushes the hair back from Dean’s face.

“That’s fair enough.” The angel hums softly. “Would you like me to carry you upstairs?”

“I can’t—” Dean shakes his head, his speech growing a little more slurred. “—I don’t think I can even _stand_ —”

“Give it a go.” Castiel instructs gently. “And I’ll support you for the most part. You need only take a few steps. I’m stronger than I look.”

Dean lets out a breathless giggle at this and lets Castiel loop his arm over the angel’s shoulder, slipping his own around Dean’s body and tugging him gently up.

“Rest most of your weight on me.” Castiel instructs tenderly. “I’ll support you.”

Dean does as Castiel says, taking small steps out of the room and towards the stairs of their home—these promise to be a more difficult task, and Castiel tugs Dean’s arm a little further around his body, his wing winding around Dean’s frame as he leans heavily onto the angel. They reach the top of the stairs and Castiel’s arms are beginning to ache a little, and he shuffles his husband gently down the corridor and toward their bedroom, kicking open the door with his foot rather than unlooping either of his arms from Dean’s body. As soon as they reach the bed, Dean slumps onto it, his eyes flickering open and closed as though he is caught between the states of semi-sleep and awake-ness. Castiel chuckles softly at the sight and rummages in the bottom drawer by Dean’s side of the bed, before turning to the younger man and slipping the socks onto his feet.

“To keep your feet warm.” He hums softly, squeezing Dean’s leg as the human beams giddily and tilts his head back onto the pillow.

“You’re so good to me.” He croaks out happily, his tone a little delirious from sated-ness and exhaustion.

“I’m only giving you what you deserve.” Castiel replies, smiling gently and slipping off the last of his own clothing. He watches as Dean’s lips twitch subtly upwards and the younger man stares happily up at the ceiling.

“I love you, Cas.”

“I love you, too.” Castiel replies, crossing the room to slip onto his side of the bed, shifting himself closer to Dean. Dean turns on his side and trails his fingers absently through the angel’s wings.

“It’s weird to think that over a month ago you couldn’t remember anything about me.”

“It is.” The angel agrees absently.

“You really hated me.” Dean laughs out tiredly.

“I really didn’t.” Castiel shakes his head. “Not when I actually started speaking to you.”

Dean raises his eyebrows questioningly at the angel.

“You’re a very difficult person to dislike, Dean.” Castiel explains his lips twitching upwards affectionately.

“You flatter me.”

“No, really,” The angel chuckles gently. “Even after our first conversation—after the accident, that is—I found you frustratingly endearing. To the extent that I forced myself to be ruder to you than was necessary.”

Dean laughs softly.

“You’re cute.”

“I think the point I’m making here, Dean, is that _you_ are.” The angel replies chortling quietly. Dean laughs again and shakes his head.

“You know, it’s when you say shit like that that I end up doing ridiculous stuff for you.”

“Like what?” Castiel frowns, raising his eyebrows questioningly at Dean.

“Like wearing a plug in my goddam ass all day, just in the hope that when I got home, you’d fuck me.” Dean laughs, rolling his eyes.

“I thought you rather enjoyed it.”

“Yeah, that’d be something of an understatement.”

“And you like hearing my praise, too.” Castiel muses gently. Dean’s lips twitch upwards and his cheeks tinge with the subtle hue of pink in the dark room.

“You’ve always been able to figure out my kinks. It’s like you’re in my head. It’s kind of creepy.”

“It’s more a matter of discerning your thought processes.”

“That’s a great way of making it sound _not_ hot.” Dean laughs. Castiel chuckles softly and nudges Dean in the darkness.

“Well, you can do the same for me.” Castiel points out. “You know what makes _me_ tick.”

“I just go from the base point of you enjoying looking after me, and work from there onwards.”

Castiel chortles and rolls his eyes.

“I suppose I must be immensely lucky to have you.” He muses gently. Dean flushes in the darkness.

“You’re a sap.”

“You like it.” Castiel chuckles, grazing his nose against Dean’s. He strokes his hand up the ladder of Dean’s ribcage, feeling the human’s body shift upwards to the touch.

“Love.” Dean corrects. “Love it. Love you.”

“I love you, too.” Castiel says again. “Now, sleep. You look exhausted.”

Dean grumbles quietly but presses his face into Castiel’s chest; and the angel can feel his husband’s soft beam against his skin. Something about the motion has Castiel’s heart fluttering almost deliriously in his chest. He finds it odd to think that there was once a time where he couldn’t remember Dean, couldn’t remember and didn’t know of how perfect and warm and soft the human was. He reminds himself that it was only a short while ago—and yet it feels far longer than that. Castiel has found it oddly easy to fall back into his rhythms with Dean—to the extent that he looks forward to each new memory—when his memories aren’t of his husband, or at least _featuring_ the man, Castiel cannot help but feel a bitter disappointment. He squeezes Dean’s body softly against his own. The two of them fit in a way that Castiel could never have anticipated. His heart is swelling with more and more love for Dean every day—and the knowledge that the human feels the same way for Castiel is almost more than the angel can bear. The cage of his chest is brimming with love. Castiel is brimming with love for Dean.

 

…

 

 _Castiel lies, shivering on a bed that he_ knows _isn’t his. His throat feels tight—like some clawed hand has taken a tight grip on it and squeezes at irregular and painful intervals, and he dares not look down, for fear of what will meet his gaze if he does—what small, terrible creature is clawing at his body and making swallowing painful. He stares at the walls ahead of him, oozing blood, and shudders, convulses where he lies. He’s going to be sick. But the creature at his throat squeezes again and Castiel moans out in a mixture of pain and fear. The blood on the walls has started pooling thickly at the floor and is threatening to creep closer and closer to the bed which Castiel is lying on. The angel shudders and shuffles back on the bed, pressing himself up against the wall behind him, before feeling a sickening heart-beat of a moment where his stomach drops into his gut, and he turns quickly to face the wall he had just been leaning on, bile rising in his throat as he watches more maroon blood trickle down its surface. He pulls back quickly, another cry escaping his throat, and glances down to his hands, to check for blood on them._

_No blood. But Castiel’s heart still drops into the pit of his torso, because his hands are shrivelling and aging in front of his very eyes—they turn grey and withered as the angel stares in horror at them—he turns them over to look in terror at his palms, which desiccate and contort as parasites crawl out of his skin—Castiel lets out another cry and staggers back, knocking something over and falling on the floor—a stabbing pain shoots up his palm and forearm and he glances back at his left hand to see a shard of shining diamond sticking out of it, quivering blood oozing out of the wound and bubbling as it winds its way along Castiel’s forearm. Castiel staggers back again, because now the blood on the walls has turned an ominous shade of green, and the angel can see coils of worms working their way through the wood of the dresser beside him._

_He hears voices outside the room and shudders away from them, attempting to make his way back to the safety of the bed and smearing deep, dark blood on the floor and everything he touches as he does so—all of the voices sound portentous and threatening and Castiel is reminded again of the creature at his throat—perhaps more of them are waiting for him outside—when he hears the warm gravel of a far more familiar voice—it sounds panicked and concerned, which causes Castiel’s heart to thump faster, more frantically against the cage of his chest, his mind pounding in his skull as the blood on the floor crawls ever closer towards him, the worms working their way out of the wood of the dresser and onto the carpet._

_“What happened?” The warm gravel sounds upset and worried and Castiel’s heart is rising into his all too tight throat; and the angel is certain that any second now he is going to vomit the organ out of his body entirely. His lungs are tightening and shrivelling inside of his chest, squeezing all the air out of his system, and he gasps for oxygen, reaching his hand to his throat to_ tear _the creature at his neck_ off _of him, but it isn’t there, and this rises untold amounts of panic in Castiel’s system—because if it isn’t there, then where has it gone? And why can’t he touch it, if it can touch_ him?!

 _“Bad trip.” One of the creatures replies. “We don’t—” The monster outside sounds anxious, too—but what kind of terrible thing could make even_ these _creatures nervous? Castiel dreads to think—he’s trapped in a nightmare and he wants his warm gravel and forest-eyes and wingless-back to come and squeeze him tight and promise away the pain. Needles of tears press at Castiel’s eyes. “We don’t  know how much he took, but—”_

_“Too much.” One of the creatures finishes off for the other. Their words buzz in Castiel’s ears behind the wood of the door. “Way too much—he just turned—and we can’t call for help, ‘cause they’re all illegal—”_

_“And what, you’ll get into trouble, too?” Forest-eyes’ voice bites with angry venom, now, and Castiel frowns at the sound, his blood rushing its way a little faster around his body, scorching his skin. “What the_ fuck _is wrong with you—”_

_“Listen, man, it’s not our fault—”_

_“None of you are helping him!” Forest-eyes shouts. “Why are none of you helping him?!”_

_“He won’t let us near him! He just shouts something about monsters and creatures at his throat and it’s fucking_ scary, _dude!”_

_“What did he take?”_

_“Molly—like, a lot—too much—and acid, and—”_

_“You let him overdose on MDMA and gave him LSD?!”_

_“We didn’t give him anything! He brought it himself! It’s_ his _fault—!”_

_“He just came in and started going on about ‘candy-flipping’—we didn’t—”_

_Forest-eyes mutters profanity and Castiel hears him shoving aside the creatures by the door, swinging it open with a sound that shatters into Castiel’s skull. He groans and presses his head between his knees—partially to block out the sound, but also because a shadow has crept out of the cupboard in the corner and is winding its way along the walls and closer-and-closer to the angel. Castiel hugs his knees to his chest as warm hand press at his face, attempting to tilt his chin upwards. They aren’t any of the creatures’’ hands. Castiel recognises these hands. They’re forest-eyes’ hands; they’re warm-gravel’s hands, but opening his eyes is something that really scares Castiel right now._

_“Cas,” The voice sounds as though it is masking concern. Castiel frowns at the tone. He doesn’t like being lied to, and the sound has anxiety coiling sharply in his gut, snapping at the chords of his already frantic heart. “Cas, can you hear me?”_

_Castiel nods in the darkness and grips tightly at the hand still resting upon his face—it squeezes back comfortingly and Castiel has to bite back the vomit rising in the back of his throat._

_“Cas, are you okay?” The voice asks gently. “Can you look at me, please?”_

_Castiel shakes his head quickly. No. No to both. No to both of those questions and never again will he be okay, never again will he open his eyes._

_“What’s wrong?” The voice asks. Castiel takes a shuddering breath._

_“The monsters—” He trembles. He opens his eyes at last, but as long as he stares into the warm-green, he knows that he won’t be able to see the creatures winding their way around him. “—They’re—”_

_“You’ve had a bad trip, Castiel.” The voice says firmly but calmly. “None of this is really happening.”_

_Panic rises in Castiel’s lungs like water._

_“—But if none of this is happening—then that means that you’re not really here—that you’re not_ real—”

_“No, Cas.” The voice shakes his head slowly. “I’m real. I’m here.” Castiel’s breath, still faltering in his throat, evens out a little. The air feels too thick and heavy in his lungs. “The monsters aren’t real—”_

_“But I can_ see _them—” The angel protests, shaking his head and gesturing to the creatures crawling along the walls and the floors. The voice looks, but his expression remains calm and unperturbed, and Castiel frowns in confusion as he turns to face the angel again._

_“It’s just the trip, Castiel. You took a little too much of everything—but it’s all going to be okay, I promise you.” His voice sounds calm and lilting like a lullaby, and is firm and soft in the angel’s ears. Castiel tilts his head back and stares, wide-eyed, at the ceiling._

_“There are bodies on the ceiling.” Castiel shudders. “Babies’ bodies.”_

_Dean—_ Dean _is his name, Castiel sighs to himself,_ Dean, Dean, _Dean—glances up at the ceiling, frowning at Castiel’s words, but shakes his head once._

_“No,” He replies, surely. “There aren’t._

_Castiel feels a sicking mix of frustration and anxiety swirl into a storm in his gut._

_“Then how to I know what_ is _real?!” His voice tears in his throat, and Dean—no, forest-eyes—no,_ Dean, _presses his hands softly to Castiel’s jaw, framing his cheekbones with his fingers, and strokes the ridges of Castiel’s face gently with his fingertips, holding Castiel steadily in place. The angel settles somewhat, despite himself—something about forest-eyes’ presence is soothing, strangely so, and Castiel swallows hard, the tightness around his throat depleting in strength and significance._

 _“This,” Dean says softly, squeezing Castiel’s face, “This is real. Me touching you is real.” He presses a kiss to Castiel’s forehead._ “You’re _real.” He presses another to the tip of Castiel’s nose. “Me loving you—that’s real.” He presses Castiel’s hand to his heart and makes the angel feel the sound of his heartbeat, so much more slow and soothing than Castiel’s own trembling, frantic rate._ “I’m _real.” Castiel lets out a shuddering sigh of a breath. “The creatures you can see,” Dean moves both his hands to rest them on the angel’s shoulders, a grounding, warm touch, “they’re not real. And they can’t touch you.”_

_“Because you’re here to protect me.” Castiel replies. Dean sighs and rests his forehead on the angel’s, closing his eyes for a moment._

_“They’re not real, Castiel.” He repeats, his voice tired._

_“Yes.” Castiel nods. “Because you’re here.”_

_Dean sighs again and squeezes the angel’s shoulders._

_“It’s not real?” Castiel asks quietly._

_“Not real.” Dean confirms._

_“Just a bad trip.”_

_“Just a bad trip.” Dean repeats._

_Castiel glances at the walls again. Insects are crawling and writhing all over them, twitching their long antennae and clicking their pincered-mouths open and shut. But Dean isn’t reacting to them. So they’re not real—they can’t be, and they’re only in Castiel’s mind. The angel repeats these words over and over in his head like a mantra, like a prayer._

_“There aren’t really bugs on the walls.” He states, staring at them worriedly. Dean glances over to where Castiel is looking and shakes his head._

_“No,” He confirms. “There aren’t.”_

_“And there aren’t shadows climbing out of the cupboard.”_

_Dean glances over to the cupboard and shakes his head again._

_“None at all.”_

_Castiel trembles and presses his face into Dean’s shoulder. The younger boy accommodates him, winding his arms around Castiel’s back and shoulders and squeezing the angel’s body tightly against his own._

_“Sing to me?” Castiel asks quietly against Dean’s skin. Dean’s hands falter a little, where they had previously been soothing gently at Castiel’s back, now they freeze a moment before continuing grazing their way over the angel’s skin._

_“Sing what?” He replies gently. Castiel sighs as he feels Dean’s hands trail their way gently through his feathers._

_“A lullaby.”_

_Dean snorts softly in Castiel’s hair. Blood is still oozing thickly off the walls, but it no longer terrifies Castiel as much as it merely unnerves him. It’s not real, he reminds himself. Only he and Dean and are real. Only him and Dean._

_“What kind of lullaby?”_

_“Anything.” Castiel shakes his head. “Sing me Bob Dylan.” He decides, pressing his face into Dean’s lap instead of his chest. “Sing me that Bob Dylan song.”_

_“Don’t Think Twice?” Dean asks, carding his fingers softly through Castiel’s hair._

_“Yes,” Castiel nods quickly. “That one. And then Billy Joel.”_

_Dean chuckles softly._

_“What song?”_

_“Vienna.” The angel mumbles._

_“Vienna.” Dean hums. “I know that one.”_

_“Or You’re My Home.” Castiel mumbles._

_“You’ve got a lot of suggestions.” Dean chuckles gently. “Wait a moment, lemme grab a first aid box.”_

_“Why?”_

_“You’ve got a cut on your hand, but it’s not bad. Just let me patch it up.”_

_Castiel remembers the cut. The knowledge still sends his head reeling with nervousness._

_“Hey,” Dean says gently. “It’s okay.”_

_Castiel feels the younger boy tilt him back onto the floor and slide a pillow beneath his head._

_“You’re shivering a little.” Dean states quietly. “Are you alright.”_

_Castiel shrugs, trying to ignore the fact the furniture around him is melting. He feels Dean take his cut hand between his own and takes a short moment to assess the damage. Then one of Dean’s hands is removed from where it had previously been, wrapped around Castiel’s, and all the angel is given is a brief warning of;_

_“This might sting a bit, but it’s going to keep the cut clean and stop infection.”_

_Before his hand is stinging and burning as a cloth wetted with what feels like_ acid _is pressed to Castiel’s wound. The angel hisses and attempts to withdraw his hand, tugging it away harshly, but Dean maintains a tight grip on Castiel’s arm and fingers and stops the angel from being able to pull himself away. Castiel growls at Dean, glowering at him, but he is ignored entirely as Dean winds a strip of bandage around Castiel’s palm._

_“You should just be happy that I know how to deal with this kind of wound.” Dean shakes his head, tying the bandage into a neat, tight knot, closing Castiel’s hand softly and bending down to press a kiss to the angel’s forehead. “And be glad that other than this, you’re okay.”_

_“I’m okay?”_

_“I still want to get you checked up, though. The asshats out there wouldn’t know the first thing about dealing with_ any _kind of person in a bad way, and so I wanna take you to the hospital.”_

_“Why?” Castiel frowns, anxiety strumming sharply at the cords of his heart._

_“Woah, Cas,” Dean soothes. “There’s no need to look so concerned. They’ll just wanna make sure you’re okay. Nothing more than that.”_

_“I won’t get in trouble?”_

_“You won’t get in any kind of trouble.” Dean’s voice remains firm and soft. “Now, Castiel, sleep. You’ve had a tough time of it, and you’re gonna be exhausted come morning. The least you can do is get a bit of a headstart on yourself.”_

_“Sing to me?” Castiel asks again. Dean smiles affectionately and nods._

_“I’ll sing for you.” Dean beams. He begins to hum softly._

_“Well I never had a place that I could call my very own.” He sings gently. Castiel’s lips twitch upwards and he tangles his fingers with Dean, finishing the next line with Dean._

_“But that's all right, my love, 'cause you're my home.”_

_…_

_The sun sets slowly over the hill Castiel and Dean are looking out across. The angel beams and squeezes Dean tightly to his side, grazing his nose against the soft sandy hairs on Dean’s head, inhaling his scent deeply._

_“I can’t believe Bobby and Ellen_ gave _us a house.” The angel chuckles softly, eyes crinkling at their corners._

_“To be fair, they’ve just had it for years.” Dean mumbles, shrugging lightly. “I mean, they never used it, and they hadn’t sold it—I think they’d just been kind of planning to give it to one of us when we came in need of a new home.”_

_“Well, it’s very kind of them.”_

_“It is.” Dean hums in absent agreement. “They like you a lot, though. That’s probably why they’re so keen on the two of us moving in together. They seem to think you do me a lot of good.”_

_“Well, you do_ me _a lot of good.” Castiel points out, chuckling softly. Dean snorts against the angel’s skin._

 _“I’d like to think.” He smiles against Castiel’s flesh. “Anyway, I’m not letting them just_ give _it to us. I basically had to_ force _them to let us pay them back.”_

_Castiel laughs quietly, his breath fogging slightly in the evening air._

_“Moving in should be fun.”_

_“Moving in should be a_ lot _of fun.”_

_“How did they end up giving you an entire house, anyway?” Castiel chortles._

_“Well, it started out as me telling them that I wanted to move out.” Dean explains. “And they did the whole ‘why are you leaving us?!’ charade that I’d been expecting ever since I saw how upset they were to see me going away to college, and I started out trying to justify it with that fact that, y’know, I’m an adult now and I’ve graduated and it’s about freakin’ time I moved out of my parents’ house, but they were basically having none of it. So then I told them that it was specifically so that I could move in with you, and that lessened the blow a bit—but then they got_ ridiculous _and started suggesting that you just move in with_ us, _and I was like: ‘seriously guys, what the fuck kind of suggestion is that’—”_

_“They seem very attached to you.” Castiel observes, chuckling quietly._

_“Yeah, too fucking attached.” Dean sighs, rolling his eyes. “So I tried to tell them_ no, _there was no way on fucking earth that that was going to happen, and in doing so, I kind of let it slip that we’re kind of engaged.”_

_“Kind of?” Castiel repeats, laughing softly._

_“Yeah, kind of.” Dean rolls his eyes again. “And then they got ridiculous and Ellen started crying and Bobby had to mysteriously disappear into the bathroom for about twenty minutes to_ definitely not cry, _even though his eyes were all red and swollen when he came out, and the whole thing was just so freakin’ annoying, Cas—but then they were like, ‘move in to Ellen’s old house!’ ‘cause y’know, we still had it just lying around, or whatever. But I’m exhausted by all of it. I mean, we haven’t even got_ rings _yet, and it was just us saying that we_ would, _one day—y’know?”_

_Castiel laughs again and squeezes Dean’s body tightly against his own._

_“At least that explains why Ellen pulled me in for quite such a tight hug, when I came round to take you out, today.”_

_“Yep, that explains it.” Dean sighs._

_“And maybe we_ should _get rings.” Castiel hums softly. Dean’s head snaps up to face Castiel’s. “Well, I mean, we’d already decided that we were moving in together—we’d decided that a long time ago—and that was what brought about all of this, if you think about it—that and the fact that we’re happy enough just to_ promise _each other that we’ll be married, one day; that marriage is something we’re_ going _to do—so why not make it official? Why not get some rings so that everybody knows?”_

_Dean’s lips twitch upwards._

_“So you really meant what you said when you said you wanted to marry me?”_

_“Come on, Dean,” The angel chuckles softly. “That’s not exactly something I’d_ lie _about.” Dean rolls his eyes at the angel’s teasing. “Of course I’d like to marry you.” He hums softly. “And I’d like everyone to know it.”_

_“This means that you’ve gotta keep that promise of inviting Ezekiel to our wedding.” Dean grins happily. “And making him your best man.”_

_“Oh, shit,” Castiel groans. “You know about that?”_

_“He told me he’d made you promise.” Dean nearly giggles._

_“Well, first of all,” Castiel corrects, sighing into the twilight air, “I never promised_ anything. _Ezekiel just likes convincing himself that it’s thanks to him that you and I became a thing.”_

 _“It sort of_ is.” _Dean reminds._

 _“Yeah, but I wouldn’t be caught_ dead _admitting that in front of him.” Castiel laughs softly. Dean snorts again and presses a kiss to Castiel’s cheek._

_“Love you.” He mumbles gently._

_“Love you, too.” Castiel replies._


	24. "The Rest Of Our Lives"

 

“I’m gonna go make breakfast.” Dean murmurs against Castiel, pressing a sleepy kiss to his chest and rising awkwardly out of bed, rubbing his eyes groggily with the heel of his palm. “You stay here.” He mumbles. Castiel chuckles softly.

“Okay.” He nods from where he lies, rolling onto his side and burying his face in Dean’s pillows. He inhales the soft, warm scent of Dean—one which has grown so familiar over the course of the past month or so. A smile twitches at the corners of his mouth. The pillows smell clean, like soap and aftershave and shampoo, but hidden underneath this are deeper, more subtle scents—the heavy scent of cars and their oil, of homemade bread and ground cinnamon—Castiel realises that he is curling into Dean’s pillows, burying himself into his husband’s side of the bed; but he doesn’t stop. When Dean comes upstairs and back into their room, he lets out a soft, thoroughly amused laugh at the sight of Castiel, so tightly wound up in his sheets.

“What on earth are you doing, Cas?” Dean grins, shaking his head. Castiel peeps up at his husband from under the covers. Dean is carrying a tray laden with toast, coffee, juice and bacon.

“I can smell you on your sheets, and I like it.” Castiel hums from where he lies. Dean huffs out another warm laugh. _“Love_ it.” Castiel corrects.

“You’re an odd one.” Dean beams, shaking his head. “It’s breakfast in bed.” He beams. “Seeing as it’s the weekend, I figured we deserve a treat.”

“I like that train of thought.” Castiel chuckles, stretching himself out on the bed and arching his spine into the mattress as Dean makes his way over to the angel and sets the tray down on the edge of the bed.

“Come on, budge up.” Dean nudges Castiel, who sighs, still beaming, and rolls over to make room for the human. The angel glances up at Dean, who seats himself on the bed and nudges Castiel again. “You’re gonna have to sit up to be able to eat, you know.” He smirks. Castiel rolls his eyes and shuffles himself into a seated position, his back rested on the wooden headboard of the bed. “You’re such a freakin’ child.” Dean chuckles, shaking his head.

“What makes you say that?” Castiel frowns.

“Well, for one thing, I’m having to remind you how to eat in bed.”

“People don’t _normally_ eat in bed.” Castiel protests. “They eat at tables.”

“No shit.” Dean chuckles, presses a kiss to Castiel’s forehead. “But if I’d let you stay lying down, you would’ve got crumbs _all over_ the sheets.”

“If I had, I would have been the one to wash them.” Castiel shrugs, taking the mug of coffee Dean hands to him, and thanking him. “And anyway, that doesn’t make me a child.”

Dean smirks and shakes his head again.

“Alright, Cas. You want bacon?”

“Of course.” Castiel frowns, as though this should have been obvious. Dean laughs again and hands Castiel a plate with three pieces of bacon on it.

“You want toast, too.”

“Yes please.” Castiel finds himself beaming. Dean grins and places a slice on Castiel’s plate, too.

“So this was a good idea, huh?” Dean asks, grinning widely. Castiel presses a kiss to his cheek.

“It was a brilliant idea Dean.” He chuckles softly.

“Damn straight it was.” Dean beams. “Have you had any memories since I last asked?”

“I have.” Castiel nods. Dean’s face lights up instantly.

“Awesome!” He exclaims. Castiel barks out a laugh and shakes his head, smiling affectionately. “Any about me?” He inquires.

“Yes,” The angel beams genuinely. “Several, in fact.”

“What exactly?” Dean asks, shuffling closer to Castiel with an expression on his face not dissimilar to that of childish excitement. The angel resists the urge to smirk at the expression on his husband’s face—it could perhaps come across as condescending—and instead grazes his hand across Dean’s cheek and presses a feather-light kiss to his lips.

“When we became engaged,” The angel begins, noting and revelling at the way in which Dean’s beam broadens still more—if that were possible—at his words. “That day, when you let it slip—by accident, I assume—that you would have liked, one day, to become married to me.”

“Yeah—that was an accident.” Dean blushes. Castiel huffs out a gentle laugh.

“I’d thought so.” The angel chuckles lightly.

“Pretty much every step we took in our relationship was ‘cause of my mouth slipping away from me.” Dean laughs, his face tinged a little red as he runs a self-conscious hand through his hair.

“Well, I’m glad it _did_ slip away from you.” Castiel replies honestly. “Had it not, you and I may not be what we are today. And in any case, it’s a rather endearing quality of yours—one that I cannot help but love, just as I love you.”

Dean grins, looking down, his face a bright pink.

“You sure do know how to embarrass me, Cas.” He laughs, blushing.

“I’m only saying what’s true.” The angel shrugs. “Anyway—the other memories—one of them was of the two of us in the very early days of our relationship, and Ezekiel walking in on the two of us lying in my bed.” Castiel explains, drawing absent patterns with the tip of his forefinger on Dean’s freckled shoulder. “And then him storming out of the room, and me dashing after him and having to explain everything.”

“I remember that.” Dean nods softly. A shy smile twitches at the corner of his mouth. “I was scared that you’d want to break up with me, afterwards. I was scared you’d think that the relationship had lost its thrill, or something.”

“Yes, you were.” Castiel nods. “I can’t think why, though. You ought to have known how enchanted by you I was. Even then.”

“You’re just saying that.” Dean blushes.

“No,” Castiel shakes his head. “I wouldn’t just say something like that. In any case, breaking up with you after explaining everything to Ezekiel was the last thing on my mind.”

“He had to put up with an awful lot.” Dean chuckles quietly. Castiel lets out a soft breath of laughter.

“What makes you say that?”

“Well, it certainly _was_ the first, but it wasn’t the last time he walked in on the two of us— _together.”_

“I see,” The angel chuckles. “And what else did he see us doing?”

“Nothing too explicit.” Dean shrugs. “But he had to put up with enough public-displays-of-affection whenever the three of us were all together, coming from us two, so him gettin’ so pissed about it was fair enough, to be honest.”

“Right,” Castiel smirks. “And did he end up being best man at our wedding, in the end?”

“He was your best man.” Dean grins. “Sammy was mine.”

“That makes sense.” The angel nods absently, paying particularly close attention to a rather beautiful constellation of light brown freckles scatter gently up Dean’s neck.

“What were your other memories about?”

“One was of you and I sitting at a hill, just after Bobby and Ellen had given us the house.”

“That’s a good one.” Dean states, breaking out into an instant grin. “Pretty soon after that, we got our rings, and then it was pretty much official that the two of us were engaged. It was weird. Everything between us happened so slowly, then so all-at-once, you know? Sometimes, both at the same time.”

“I think I understand.” Castiel chuckles. “What was our wedding day like?”

“Cute.” Dean beams. “Pretty small. The reception was quite big though—but the actual ceremony wasn’t. You know,” Dean laughs, shaking his head absent mindedly. “It feels so weird explaining all this stuff to you. I don’t think it ever won’t.”

“Of course it feels weird, Dean,” Castiel frowns. “And what do you mean?”

“I don’t think it’ll ever feel normal, me having to explain who we were, to you.” Dean shrugs.

“You say that like you don’t think I’ll ever remember everything.”

“Well—” Dean rubs the back of his neck uncomfortably. “We’ve gotta be realistic in this situation, Cas.”

“Realistic?” Castiel raises his eyebrows defensively in Dean’s direction.

“—I mean, if you haven’t remembered everything this far in, who’s to say you ever will?—And I’m not complaining, Cas—like, it’s tough, but we’ll make it through; and I truly believe the hardest stuff is past us—but it’s just a fact of life, now—or rather, a fact of our lives—that maybe, things aren’t going to be the way they once were.”

“What do you mean by that?” Castiel nearly glowers in his husband’s direction.

“That maybe you’re never going to remember everything, okay?” Dean raises his hands in the air, exasperated. “And I’m fine with that, Cas—like, I’ve made peace with that possibility—”

“Oh, good for you, Dean.” Castiel rolls his eyes, his top lip curling. “How very fucking hard all this must have been for you. How could I have possibly ever been so selfish?”

“What are you talking about, Cas?” Dean returns Castiel’s glare.

“I mean, you’re talking about all of this—me losing my memory—like the only person it was difficult for was you.” Castiel bites, his jaw clenching. “Did you ever stop to consider that maybe all of this was just a _tiny bit_ hard on me, too?” He squints, frustration simmering in his gut. _“I’m_ the one who was attacked because of my race— _I’m_ the one who was made to feel afraid of going out on the streets alone; _I’m_ the one who woke up on a hospital bed, in pain, surrounded by strangers—I’m the one who seemed to have abandoned all of his principles, who had to question what exactly it was he believed in, anymore, if anything—you—”

“I never said you didn’t have to go through any of that!” Dean exclaims.

“But you never acknowledged it, either!” Castiel replies, his voice containing a large enough amount of venom that it is able to surprise even _him._ Dean scowls at Castiel. The angel scowls back.

“All I was trying to say,” Dean begins, his voice quiet and frustrated, “is that it’s okay if not everything comes back to you. “That it didn’t matter—because we still had each other, because we still _loved_ each other.”

“Now you’re saying ‘loved’ like we don’t love each other anymore.” Castiel rolls his eyes.

“And now you’re just trying to _pick_ a fight.” Dean bites back.

Castiel looks away.

“But maybe your love now only extends to however far it is I manage not to piss you off.” Dean mutters, turning away from Castiel, as well.

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous, Dean.” Castiel sighs. He glances back at his husband. Dean’s face is red with something other than embarrassment. There is a painful silence. Castiel slides his legs up and hugs his knees to his chest. “—Sorry.” He mumbles, after what seems like a decade of quiet. Dean’s gaze flickers back to the angel’s face.

“Yeah,” He sighs. “Me too.”

“I had another memory.” Castiel states. It’s a poor attempt to make some sort of amends, to break the awkward quiet that has fallen between the two of them, but Dean seems to accept it—albeit rather tiredly—at any rate.

“Yeah?” He asks. His voice is caught at the line before becoming an exhausted sigh. “What of?”

“At a party—when I had a really bad trip—and you were there—you were there for me, and you made everything better.”

“I didn’t make everything better, Cas.” Dean snorts, somewhat bitterly. “The medics did, when they finally arrived. I did jack shit.”

“You made me feel better.” Castiel frowns. “You made me feel safe when everything around me felt terrifying. You took care of my hand, you stopped me from working myself up any more—”

“All of that’s easy stuff, Cas.” Dean sighs. “Anyway, everyone knows that when someone’s tripping, you don’t say negative shit—well, aside from those asshats who were first ‘looking after’ you, but that’s not the point—”

“You honestly cannot accept praise, can you?” Castiel frowns softly. Dean’s face heats again.

“Yeah, and that’s ‘cause I don’t deserve it.” He mutters.

“That’s not the case at all.”

“And how can you be so sure?”

“Because I know you, Dean—and I know that all your feelings of inadequacy—that they’re not justified. Not in the slightest.”

“You don’t even know _why_ I feel inadequate—”

“I remember a lot more things than you give me credit for.” Castiel reminds, a little more hotly than he had perhaps intended. He looks away, sighing, just as Dean’s gaze snaps back up to Castiel’s face.

“Then you _do_ know?” Dean’s voice trembles somewhat.

“I had a memory,” Castiel confesses, staring at their sheets instead of at Dean, “a while ago—of you explaining something to me. Something that happened to you. So if that’s what you mean, then yes. Yes I do.”

Dean looks down again.

“I should go clean up, downstairs.” He mutters, about to rise from the bed, but Castiel’s hand catches him by the shoulder and holds him back.

“Dean,” The angel says gently. Except he isn’t sure what to say next—and Dean’s face is almost as pained as it appears exhausted. “I—” Castiel stammer, rather ineloquently, “I’m sorry.” He says, softly. “I love you.” He squeezes Dean’s shoulder. Dean glances down a moment before returning his gaze to Castiel’s.

“I love you, too.” He replies. His hand meets the angel’s, on his shoulder. “And I’m sorry, too.”

“You don’t have to clean up, just yet.” Castiel worries at his lip slightly as he speaks. “And I could help you, when you do—just—stay in bed, a while. With me. Stay with me.”

“Okay, Cas.” Dean nods gently. He clambers back into the bed and lies on his back a moment, Castiel shuffling closer to him and squeezing Dean’s body tight against his own.

“I’m sorry.” Castiel says again. “I was rude and impertinent, and—”

“Yeah, well I was inconsiderate.” Dean replies, rolling onto his side to face Castiel. “And you were right. I’ve been making it out like this has only been hard on me. Which isn’t true, at all.”

Castiel leans forward to brush his lips against Dean’s.

“I will remember everything.” He says, softly. “I know you think I won’t, but I will. I promise you.”

“It’s okay if you don’t, Cas.” Dean reminds.

“But I will.” Castiel shakes his head. “I’ll remember everything about you, about us—about all that has happened these past nine years. I swear.”

Dean sighs gently.

“But I wanted to say thank you.” Castiel murmurs quietly.

“Thank you for what?” Dean asks.

“For looking after me, that time.” Castiel states. “And every time since.”

“We look after each other.” Dean shrugs, but his lips twitch upwards into a subtle, warm smile. “That’s just what we do.”

 

…

 

_“You look like a goof in a bowtie.” Dean grins broadly, his eyes crinkling happily at their corners as he straightens out Castiel’s attire._

_“You say that I look like a ‘goof’ rather a lot of the time.” Castiel points out, supressing his own joyful smile to little or no avail._

_“Yeah, that’s ‘cause you_ do _.” Dean beams. “You_ are _a goof.”_

_“That’s very sweet of you to say on our wedding day.” Castiel chuckles, shaking his head._

_“If we’re building up for a lifetime of honesty—”_

_Castiel cuts Dean and his teasing grin off by dragging him close and claiming his lips in a crushing, elated kiss. He pulls back beaming, his breath mingling with Dean’s._

_“A lifetime.” He repeats. “I don’t know if I should feel really fucking scared, or just really excited. Or just happy.”_

_“All three is probably pretty good.” Dean laughs breathlessly. “I mean, we are about to get married, after all.”_

_“We are.” Castiel practically shines with happiness. He laughs internally to himself at how, before he met Dean, it was so rare that he would smile. His smiles were reserved pretty much entirely for his sister—and yet, now, it seems that he cannot stop. “Speaking of,” He hums, ruffling Dean’s hair slightly—it looks odd in such neat condition, sticking down to his skull in such a way, and Dean grins and returns the gesture, ruffling the angel’s in response. “Isn’t it bad luck that we should be seeing each other, before the wedding? And if so, shouldn’t you be leaving?”_

_“Woah, Cas,” Dean barks out a laugh. “Are you trying to get rid of me?” Castiel grins and shakes his head at Dean’s words. “Don’t give me that look,” Dean laughs, grazing his nose against the angels as Castiel attempts to supress a grin. “If you want me gone, just say the word, and I’ll leave—”_

_“I’ll never want you gone, Dean.” Castiel beams._

_“I’m sorry, I can’t say I’m entirely convinced—”_

_Castiel kisses Dean again._

_“You’ve really gotta stop interrupting my sentences with kisses, Cas, it’s really—” Castiel kisses Dean again. “—Inconvenient.” Dean finishes, sighing in mock-exasperation._

_“You like it,” Castiel beams. “And I can’t help it. You’re very kissable.”_

_“I try.” Dean grins._

_“And you do the same to me.” The angel points out._

_“I do what?”_

_“You interrupt me by kissing me.”_

_“Yeah, but only when it’s_ absolutely _necessary.” Dean replies, smirking slightly. Castiel huffs out something caught between a sigh and a breath of laughter and smooths his hands over Dean’s suit._

_“And when’s that?” Castiel asks, amusement curling at his voice with warmth._

_“Think life or death.”_

_“So you think that sometimes, it would kill you not to kiss me?” Castiel raises his eyebrows at Dean._

_“No, but sometimes I think it would kill me to have to listen to you for a second longer.” Dean grins. Castiel rolls his eyes and nudges Dean softly in reprimand, but Dean merely laughs louder and presses a kiss to the angel’s temple. “I’m just kidding, Cas.” He beams._

_“I’m going to have to put up with your jokes for the rest of my life.” Castiel sighs, rolling his eyes again._

_“Hey, you say that like it’s a bad thing.” Dean grins once more. Castiel chuckles softly and winds his arms a little tighter round his soon-to-be-husband’s body._

_“I suppose I_ do _find your humour rather endearing.” Castiel admits._

_“But not amusing?” Dean raises his eyebrows at the angel._

_Castiel hums softly a moment, in teasing thoughtfulness._

_“A little amusing, I guess.”_

_“You’re a damn tease.” Dean laughs._

_“That’s something that_ you’ll _have to put up with, for the rest of your life.”_

_“I guess it is.” Dean’s smile changes into something a little softer, but still dripping with warmth and love. “I’m sure I’ll learn to live with it, though.”_

_“I’m sure you will.” Castiel agrees, humming lightly._

_“The rest of our lives.” Dean beams._

_“The rest of our lives.” Castiel repeats. He thinks he is going to explode with joy. The thought doesn’t even scare him._

_“I can’t wait.”_

_Castiel’s eyes crinkle at their corners with the smile he gives in response to Dean. He wonders absently—and not for the first time—just how many freckles there are, dappled across Dean’s face. One day, he is certain, he will take the time to count. He wonders how many shimmering shades of green there are blended into each of Dean’s eyes. He wonders how many dark brown eyelashes there are, exactly, framing Dean’s eyes. He moves his hand up to Dean’s face to graze the pad of his thumb across Dean’s cheek._

_“Me neither.” He replies, beaming. And he means it._


	25. Last Fight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Penultimate chapter probably. I have not checked over this chapter at all (I'm sorry) because, to quote myself when i asked myself if I was willing to do it, "Fuck that shit. Fuck it. Fucking Fuck it." 
> 
> So.
> 
> Sorry this is kinda late, too. Hope you guys enjoy.

 

“You’ve got your interview pretty soon.” Dean mumbles against Castiel’s chest as the two of them lie together on the couch, more or less entirely naked. “You’ve read your books now, right?”

“Yes, Dean,” Castiel chuckles warmly, tangling his fingers slowly through his husband’s hair. “I have.”

“That must have been kind of weird.” Dean snorts out a soft laugh, nuzzling into the angel’s skin.

“It was, somewhat.” Castiel admits. The smile at his lips twitches out a little wider. “I don’t think I’d be able to stand to read my own writing, normally, but this time it was rather necessary—if excruciating.”

“Yeah, you always refuse to read your stuff once it’s actually been printed.” Dean frowns slightly, looking up at Castiel and resting his chin on the angel’s chest. “And I’ve never really been able to figure out why.”

“I don’t know,” Castiel shrugs slightly. “I just—it’s rather awkward, you know? And I’m constantly thinking of how there must have been better ways for me to phrase things—words I ought to have used rather than the ones I did, sentences that are, in hindsight, frustratingly needless and could have certainly been could—”

“I think you have a habit of being a little too hard on yourself.” Dean chuckles lightly.

“You can talk.” Castiel rolls his eyes, squeezing Dean’s body softly against his own. “Anyway, I just dislike having to go over anything that’s come out of my brain. I sound pretentious and awkward.”

“You sound adorable.” Dean hums, pressing a kiss to the angel’s chest as a warm beam twitches across his features.

“That sounds horribly condescending.” Castiel chuckles.

“You say it to me all the time.” Dean shrugs nonchalantly. “And anyway, it’s the truth.”

“And the truth hurts, I suppose?” The angel snorts softly. Dean grins and shrugs again.

“I guess it must do. But anyway, Cas, it was a compliment.”

“You sound cuter.”

“I’m not even saying _anything—”_

“Yes you are,” Castiel laughs, “and whenever you speak, you sound adorable.”

“You’re really fucking patronising.” Dean rolls his eyes.

“Well, you started it.” The angel chuckles.

“Are you gonna talk about your assault in the interview?” Dean asks.

“I’m not quite sure what I’m going to speak about at all, to be completely honest.” The angel admits.

“It’s probably good to start thinking, now.” Dean points out.

“Yes, it probably is.” Castiel concedes.

Several weeks have passed since Dean and Castiel’s last fight. Things are beginning to set into their soft and steady swing again; Castiel has returned to work and memories are filtering through, little by little, every day. And something inside of him is beginning to accept, just as Dean believes, that maybe Castiel never _will_ regain all of his memories of the past nine years. And maybe that’s okay. Sometimes Castiel feels like it’s something he can live with. Sometimes Dean will say something, his face alight, and then brush it off with a crestfallen expression, stating that Castiel wouldn’t be able to remember, anyway. Those are the times Castiel feels far less as though he can accept his current state. He’s well aware that things have got better, and yet something deep inside of him cannot remain satisfied with his memory staying in this condition, forever. And Dean would never admit to feeling any dissatisfaction in what he is so constantly reminding Castiel as what is neither of their faults.

Castiel sighs quietly and cards his fingers absently through Dean’s hair. It’s growing a little late, perhaps they ought to be heading upstairs to bed—and as though he is reading the angel’s mind, Dean looks up and rests his chin again on Castiel’s chest.

“You wanna hit the hay?”

Castiel’s lips twitch upwards.

“Do you?” He asks.

“I could do with some sleep, yeah.” Dean shrugs carelessly. Castiel smiles and shifts Dean’s body up to kiss the human’s lips.

“Okay,” He nods, sitting them both up. “Then let’s go to bed.”

“It’s been a good day.” Dean beams.

“I’m glad you think so.” Castiel chuckles.

 

…

 

_“So, now that you and Dean are married, what’s next in your relationship, do you think?” Jo asks, grinning widely. She rests her chin on her hands and plays absently with her hair, the strands beginning to slip from her once-neat high bun. “Do you want to have any kids?”_

_“I don’t know,” Castiel chuckles, slipping his hand into Dean’s, who rolls his eyes at his sister’s teasing. “It isn’t really something we’ve discussed in any great detail.”_

_“Well,” Jo shrugs, still grinning—almost wickedly—“discuss now.”_

_Castiel glances at his new husband—a title which still sends his head and heart reeling—and notes the embarrassed expression flickering across Dean’s features._

_“Jo, shut the fuck up.” Dean blushes, looking away from his sister with a frustrated expression._

_“What, are you seriously_ embarrassed _in front of your new husband? The two of you are married!” Jo’s laughter rings with something not unlike mockery, and both Dean’s embarrassment and his frustration seem to grow._

 _“Yeah, I know what it means, thanks.” Dean rolls his eyes. “I_ knew _it was a mistake to make you a bridesmaid at our wedding.”_

 _“First of all, how can I be a bridesmaid if there isn’t any bride,”—Castiel barks out a laugh at this—“And second of all, I’ve been a freaking lifesaver this entire night, and you_ know _it.”_

 _“That is absolutely not the case.” Dean shakes his head defiantly. “Rachel?” He gestures rhetorically over to Castiel’s sister, “_ She’s _been a damn lifesaver. You’ve just been really freakin’ annoying.”_

_“I’ve been keeping you humble.” Jo merely giggles as Dean sighs exasperatedly._

_“Why do I need to be made humble?” Dean frowns with indignant manner._

_“Well, you spent_ months _fawning over Castiel—seriously, Cas, it was freaking_ maddening—”— _Castiel barks out a laugh again—“—and now that you’re marrying him, Dean, there’s a really strong chance that your head will get to big. So I’m here to keep it small.”_

_“And how will you do that, exactly?” Dean raises his eyebrows at Jo, who grins and shrugs._

_“By embarrassing you, duh.”_

_“You’re succeeding.” Dean rolls his eyes._

_“No, seriously.” Jo giggles. “Do you want to have kids?”_

_“Cas has already said—we don’t really know.”_

_“Just ‘cause you haven’t talked about it?” Jo frowns at Dean._

_“I’d want to have children with you, Dean.” Castiel shrugs, squeezing Dean’s hand. Dean glances at Castiel._

_“You would?”_

_“That’s what he just said, doofus.” Jo rolls her eyes. Dean throws a napkin at her._

_“Forget bridesmaid, I shouldn’t have even_ invited _you to the wedding.”_

_“There isn’t a bride—”_

_“Flower girl, then.” Dean sighs, face in his hands._

_“You’re looking a little miserable for it to be your wedding day, you know.”_

_“Cas, how come_ your _sister isn’t mindlessly annoying?” Dean groans into his hands._

_“She is.” Castiel laughs. This time, he is the one to have a serviette thrown at him._

_“I heard that.” Rachel frowns from a little further up the table. Dean laughs, despite himself._

_“And she’s_ really _violent.” Castiel reminds, looking back at Dean, whose lips twitch upwards softly._

_“Yeah, I’ve noticed, believe me.”_

_“You still haven’t answered your sister’s question, you know.” Castiel points out. Dean’s smile softens somewhat and he grazes the back of his hand against a few of Castiel’s feathers._

_“About kids?”_

_“Yes.” The angel nods._

_“Yeah, I think I’d want some.” Dean smiles. His hand finds Castiel’s again and he squeezes the angel’s fingers softly. “And you’d definitely want to, as well?”_

_“Sure,” Castiel chuckles. “Although I have very little experience with children, aside from my sister. And she was very mature, as a child.”_

_“Not like Jo, then.” Dean grins. Jo giggles and rolls her eyes._

_“Sam has always seemed mature for his years.”_

_“Yeah, but he still whines a lot.” Dean smirks._

_“Where is he?” Castiel asks, glancing around the hall._

_“Probably trying—and failing—to flirt with someone.”_

_“You make it out as though he’s absolutely_ clueless, _socially.”_

_“Yeah, ‘cause he is.” Dean laughs. “C’mon, Cas, don’t tell me you can’t see it, too.”_

_“Sam is very socially apt.”_

_“Okay, socially apt, but not romantically. He sucks at flirting. He’s too awkward. He’s kinda like the opposite of you.”_

_“You think I’m socially inept?” Castiel laughs._

_“No offense, Cas,” Dean grins, “but sometimes, yeah. You can be pretty damn clueless.”_

_“In what way?”_

_“You’re awkward.”_

_“That’s true, I’m sorry, Cas.” Jo giggles._

_“You can be awkward, too.” Castiel points out._

_“Yeah, but that was only ever around you.” Dean grins, winking at the angel. Castiel sighs, grinning broadly, and loops his arm around Dean’s body._

_“I honestly can’t imagine Dean being shy or quiet.” Jo confesses, shaking her head as if in disbelief at her adoptive-brother. “I’ve grown up with him always being loud and sarcastic and confident—and always trying to be funny—it’s just weird to think of him not being just so.”_

_“See, for a long time all I thought that Dean_ could be _was shy and quiet.” Castiel chuckles. “And ugh, you have no idea how frustratingly cute he was.”_

_“I don’t think Dean’s capable of being cute.” Jo grins._

_“Watch out, Johanna Beth,” Dean chuckles despite himself. “Or you’ll end up with another napkin thrown at your head.”_

_“Dean, I’m positively quivering with fear.”_

_“Shouldn’t you be flirting somewhere, too?” Dean lets out a mock-exasperated sigh. “Y’know annoying and creeping out someone else?”_

_“That wouldn’t be_ nearly _as fun as pissing_ you _off.” Jo grins widely._

 _“You’re a freakin’_ child _.” Dean groans._

_“Legally, yeah, I kind of am.”_

_“You know, this time is_ supposed _to be for just Dean and Castiel.” Rachel reminds, leaning across the table to speak to Jo, supressing a smirk as she does so._

_“They have a whole honeymoon together.” Jo shrugs. “And the rest of their lives, if things go according to plan.”_

_“What do you mean, according to plan?” Dean frowns._

_“Well, statistically, your marriage has what? A fifty percent chance of failing? Those are just the numbers Dean, don’t give me that look, it’s a fact of life—”_

_“Fact of life or not, me and Cas are_ not _gonna get a divorce.” Dean glowers._

_“That’s probably far easier to say in the early days of marriage than it will be, say, ten years down the line.” Rachel points out._

_“Rachel? Seriously? You’re on_ her _side, now?” Dean asks incredulously, gesturing over to his sister, who grins triumphantly._

_“I’m just pointing out a fact, Dean.” Rachel states. Castiel frowns softly at her. Rachel supresses a smirk. Castiel has to do the same._

_“And I thought you were gonna be a_ nice _sister-in-law.”_

_“They’re only teasing, Dean.” Castiel reminds._

_“Yeah, and you’re fucking_ laughing with _them.” Dean rolls his eyes._

_“’Cause we’re hilarious.” Jo grins widely._

_“You_ think _you’re hilarious.” Dean states. “There’s a big difference.”_

_“You’re just being boring.” Jo rolls her eyes. “And I know why.”_

_“Why?”_

_“You want to be left alone with Castiel.” Dean’s sister sighs. “So I’ll let you be.” She rises from her chair and Rachel giggles and follows suit. “But you’re getting spoiled, Dean. Real fucking spoiled.”_

_“Duly noted.” Dean rolls his eyes. “At least I’ve got you to keep me down to earth.”_

_“Exactly.” Jo positively beams. “I’m gonna go dance. Rachel, do you wanna join me?”_

_“I’d love to.” Rachel smiles broadly. She glances back at Castiel, her expression softening somewhat, and Castiel beams back at her._

_“Have fun.” He wishes to the pair._

_“We will.”_

_Castiel turns back to Dean, who tangles his hands with the angel’s and squeezes softly._

_“So,” Dean almost grins. “Kids.”_

_“You want them, too?” Castiel asks, his lips twitching upwards._

_“With you? Yeah, definitely.”_

_Castiel beams and leans forward to graze his nose across his husband’s._

_“If someone had told me that I’d be married to that awkward, adorable human who had the painfully blatant crush on me and played video games with my roommate, I don’t think I would’ve_ known _how to react.” Castiel chuckles softly._

_“You think you would’ve been happy?”_

_“Very quietly happy, yes.” Castiel nods. “Elated, in fact.”_

_“You’re exaggerating.” Dean blushes._

_“Not at all.” Castiel shakes his head._

_“Well, if someone had told_ me _that I’d be married to the beautiful, occasionally-awkward, freakishly clever and weirdly blue-eyed angel who I had the painfully blatant crush on, I would’ve called them a fucking liar—and then maybe after believing them, have cried with happiness and punched the air for joy.”_

_“You’re adorable.” Castiel’s smile widens._

_“I can’t believe I get to call you my husband, now.” Dean beams._

_“I can’t believe I get to call you_ mine.” _Castiel replies. Dean’s face reddens slightly. The sight makes Castiel chuckle. “When are you going to stop blushing when I compliment you?”_

 _“Never,” Dean laughs, shaking his head. “I blush ‘cause I care that you’re complimenting me, and I’m always gonna care, ‘cause I’m always gonna care about_ you.”

_“I’m always going to care about you, too.” Castiel replies. He kisses Dean. Dean kisses back._

_…_

 

“I had another memory.” Castiel beams as he walks into the living room. Dean is stretched out across the couch on his front, a sketchbook and pencil in his hands. He glances up at the angel and his lips twitch into a soft smile.

“Yeah? What about?”

“More of our wedding day.” Castiel beams. “Us talking about having kids.” Something in Dean’s smile slips, somewhat, but Castiel hardly notices—he is growing more and more caught up in himself as he speaks with increasing rhythm and pace. “I really think that I’m remembering more and more every day—well, obviously,” He laughs, “—but what I mean is, I think—well, really _believe,_ that one day, I really _am_ going to remember everything! Really, Dean! And I think that day’s close—and we’re going to be able to adopt children, and we’ll be able to figure out who did this to me, and—”

“No, Cas,” Dean groans, sitting up and placing the notebook and pencil on the small table in front of him. “You’ve gotta stop talking like this.”

“And why is that?” Castiel frowns at Dean, feeling suddenly and utterly deflated.

“Because you know it’s not true, right? They’ve dropped the case of your assault. They dropped it, because they’re racists, and it’s disgusting, but you didn’t remember anything in time, and let’s be honest—you’re never _going_ to.”

“That’s not—”

“Yeah, I know it’s not fair, Cas.” Dean puts his head in his hands. “But you know what else isn’t fair? Talking to me about having kids when you’ve only just gone back to work, when only two months ago you were unconscious on a hospital bed, and only _one_ month ago you had little or no idea of who you were. We’re not in that _place,_ right now—kids aren’t a possibility—you’re too vulnerable—”

“I am _not_ vulnerable.” Castiel bites, his jaw clenching. Dean sighs again, and something about the gesture has fire sparking along Castiel’s veins.

“Cas, you _are—”_

“I’m _not!”_ Castiel grits his teeth. “And what would you know about any of this, anyway?! Technically, I’ve _always_ been vulnerable, if that’s the card you want to play—vulnerable to attacks from humans because I’m an angel—”

“That’s not the kind of vulnerable I was talking about—”

“But it’s the _only_ kind of vulnerable I really am!” Castiel feels his nostrils flare. “You keep on making out that just because I lost my memory, I’ve turned into some sort of _child,_ and it’s not true—!”

“You _know_ that’s not what I mean!”

“No, I think I _do_ know what you mean! You can’t accept that I’m still _me,_ that I’m still Castiel—you think I’ve _changed—_ and yes, maybe I have, Dean, but that’s hardly my fault, is it?! And I may not remember everything—I may not even be the Castiel you fell in love with—but I am _still_ Castiel! And you need to accept that! And you need to be able to move on!” Castiel’s hands are trembling in balled fists by his sides. “You know what, Dean? Sometimes I get the feeling that more than anything else, you’re only in love with what I _used_ to be! That you’re clinging to the mere _memory_ of me!”

“Well one of us has to!” Dean nearly bellows at Castiel, standing quickly. Tears has formed in his eyes, and he turns quickly away, his body rising and falling with quick, angry breaths. Castiel watches as he settles a moment, then storms out of the room. The angel pauses before following suit—but not pursuing Dean. He pulls open the front door with a violent jerk and storms out of it, slamming it loudly behind him. Once out onto the street, the tempest in Castiel’s head clears a moment as he paces down the pavement, but suddenly the tumult returns, and Castiel is having to steady himself on the side of a building, his breathing rough and laboured. He recognises this kind of mind-storm. It’s the one he gets before many of his memories. Castiel closes his eyes, bracing himself. He doesn’t know what to expect. Whatever he _does_ expect, it isn’t what he gets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I'm sorry to have left it on a cliffhanger like that. You'll all recover, though. You're strong, beautiful people, and the next update will come really soon. Hopefully.


	26. Really Back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BIG WARNING FOR GRAPHIC VIOLENCE
> 
> I may well do an epilogue after this chapter. I'll see how I feel. Please say if there's anything you'd like included.

 

 _“Cas, I’m_ serious! _You’ve gotta stop this!” Dean sighs as he pursues Castiel into the kitchen, pushing open the door that Castiel had attempted to slam behind him._

 _“Stop_ what _exactly, Dean?!” Castiel bites as he turns on his heel to face Dean suddenly, who takes a step back and looks slightly shocked for a moment._

_“This,” Dean gestures concomitantly to the angel with another sigh. “You’ve got an interview in a few months and you’re already drawing too much attention to yourself—”_

_“And what do you mean by_ that, _Dean?” Castiel asks, his jaw clenching as he glowers in his husband’s direction._

 _“What I_ mean, _Cas, is that you telling me that you’re writing another book—and that it’s gonna be even more extreme than the ones before—just after you’ve received_ threats—”

 _“Don’t you see, Dean?! That’s why it_ needs _to be more extreme! Because things aren’t changing fast enough! Because my activism has earned me threats to my life!”_

_“And apparently, that means nothing to you!” Dean exclaims._

_“When did I_ ever _say that?!”_

 _“You didn’t have to_ say _it!” Dean bellows. “You’re acting like it, right now!”_

 _“The very fact that I’ve received threats from_ your people—” _Castiel takes a step forward, and Dean takes one back, “—for speaking out against racism, the result of which being that someone—or multiple people—have begun threatening to take my life—is a sign that I need to_ continue _speaking out!”_

 _“But do you have to do it so_ loudly?!”

_“Do you really think that if I didn’t protest so loudly, that I would still get noticed?!”_

_Dean sighs and scuffs his foot against the floor of the kitchen._

_“You’re acting like the only thing that matters in this situation is the cause—”_

_“That’s because the cause_ is _the only thing that matters!”_

 _“Really?!” Dean shouts. “You’re really gonna say that?! When it’s_ you _they’ve been threatening?! When_ I’m _the one who’s been worried sick about you?! About what might happen to you?!”_

_“Dean,” Castiel sighs, taking another, gentler step forward, this time—he is relieved when Dean in turn doesn’t step back—“You needn’t worry about any of that—nothing’s going to come to any fruition of it—”_

_“How can you_ say _that?!” Dean groans rubbing his face exasperatedly with the palms of his hands. “How can you be so sure?!”_

_“Stuff like this happens to people all the time—”_

_“You’ve received_ three _threats in the past week alone!”_

_“You’re taking this out of context—”_

_“There_ is _no taking this out of context, Cas, don’t you see! Someone’s targeted you directly and is intent on making you feel unsafe—”_

 _“Yes,_ feel _unsafe, Dean—and why should we be giving them what they want, anyway—”_

 _“Because they’re being fucking_ threatening, _Cas! They know where we live! These notes were delivered directly! You’re refusing to go to the police, and you know what, even if you do—_ I _don’t feel safe, anymore!”_

 _“What, so I should stop with my activism because_ you _feel threatened?!”_

_“I’m saying this because I love you, Cas! I don’t want to see you get hurt!”_

_“This is about more than just me! And you know what else, it’s about more than just you and your needless feelings, too!”_

_“’Needless feelings’?!” Dean repeats, venom filling his voice as he raises his eyebrows incredulously at the angel. “Oh, nice one, Cas! Real fucking gentlemanly of you!”_

_“No, no, you want to know something more, Dean? There’s no fucking_ point _in me going to the police—not when I’m an_ angel _receiving death threats!”_

_“What the hell is that supposed to mean?!”_

_“What the hell do you_ think _it means?! They won’t care! They won’t care, because I’m an angel!” Castiel bellows._

 _“You’re receiving_ death threats, _Castiel!”—Castiel winces at Dean’s use of his full name—“And you know what? People aren’t_ nearly _as racist as you think they are!”_

 _“How would you fucking know, Dean?!” Castiel spits. “You don’t experience any!—And anyway, I’m receiving_ threats at my life”— _Castiel punctuates each of these four words with a needlessly large amount of time over each syllable, venom dripping from his voice—“from someone—clearly people_ are _as racist as I think they are!”_

 _“You know that’s not what I meant! You’re taking this_ way _out of context, just like you always do!”_

_“That’s not true at all!” Castiel exclaims, slamming his hand down onto one of the work surfaces._

_“Yes it is!” Dean bellows back, his eyes turning glassy from tears._

_“Well, Dean, it’s_ your _people who’ve been threatening to kill me!”_

“My _people?!” Dean repeats incredulously. “What the hell do you mean by that?!”_

 _“What I mean, idiot,” Castiel bites again, watching as Dean’s jaw clenches as his eyes glass over a little further, “is that I received these threats from a_ fucking human. _Who else would send them?! I_ knew _it was a mistake marrying one of you lot.”_

 _“Stop grouping me with people I have nothing to do with!” Dean shouts, taking an angry step towards Castiel. “And why the_ fuck _are you saying our marriage was a mistake?!”_

 _“You have_ everything _to do with them,” Castiel’s jaw nearly locks from anger. “You’re_ one of them!”

_“You know what, Cas, fuck you, too!” Dean bellows. “You’re acting like all that any of this is about is you and your stupid fucking activism, when really—”_

_“How_ dare _you call it stupid!—”_

 _“How fucking dare I?!” Dean repeats, his eyes wide and dark from anger. “Don’t you see what it’s done?! Don’t you see what you’ve fucking_ caused?!”

“I’ve _caused?!” Castiel repeats, banging his closed fist on the surface again._

 _“Yes,_ you.” _Dean confirms, spitting out his words as though they are poison in his mouth. “‘Listen, angel-scum,’” Dean recants, rolling his eyes upwards as he retells one of the earlier threat-letters. “‘I’ll see you rot in hell before another one of your shitty, piss poor ‘activist’ books comes out again. In fact, you’re gonna rot, either way.’”_

_“Dean—”_

_“‘One more thing—that traitor partnered up with you in the_ abomination _you want to label as marriage? He’s gonna rot, too.’”_

“Dean,” _Castiel’s jaw clenches._

_“‘Dearest Castiel, I warned you, I did fucking warn you, don’t say that I didn’t fucking warn you—you’re gonna pay for this interview, pay for it with blood—’”_

“Dean!” _Castiel shouts, cutting Dean off as Dean’s gaze finally snaps back to the angel’s face. His expression turns suddenly guilty._

_“Cas, I’m sorry,” Dean’s voice has turned suddenly impossibly small. “It’s just—I’m scared, okay? And I wish you’d do more—to be careful, to—”_

_“This is about more than you and me, Dean.” Castiel repeats. “It’s about all the angels—ever—about all of us—I can’t just stand down—”_

_“It’s not standing down—” Dean shakes his head, the frustration once more growing in his voice._

_“Yes, it is.” Castiel replies firmly, the blood in his veins beginning to boil again. He breathes deeply, struggling to keep his voice steady and even. But the task escapes him. “It’s admitting defeat—”_

_“It is not!” Dean shouts. “You never think of me, in all of this! You never think of_ us! _You always—”_

 _“You know what, Dean?” Castiel sighs, throwing his hands into the air in some kind of livid self-defeat. “I’m done trying to explain this to you. Clearly you could never understand. The only way you_ could _understand would be for you to have lived as an_ angel _for all of your life, and_ obviously _you haven’t done that, so—”_

_“So I have no fucking say in what you do?! Even when I’m your husband?! Even when it’s for your own safety?!” Dean bellows._

_“You don’t understand!” Castiel roars back. He shoves past Dean and storms out of the kitchen._

_“No, of course I fucking don’t!” Dean shouts after him. “I’m too stupid, huh?”_

_“I never said that!” Castiel spins on his heel to shout back at Dean, again._

_“But you thought it, didn’t you!”_

_“You’re putting words into my mouth and you know it!”_

_“But_ am _I, Cas?! Am I really?! Or is it just_ you _being the insensitive asshole?!”_

_“How the hell am I being insensitive?!” Castiel asks, his voice raised to such a volume that he is sure he feels the foundations of the house shake._

_“I don’t know, Cas, maybe by forgetting that I’ve already lost two of the people I loved most in the world due to their actions in activism because of extremists, and I don’t want to lose another!”_

_This response stumps Castiel, somewhat. But he doesn’t let it show. Even if it sends shards of pain piercing into his heart like pieces of broken glass into raw flesh. He grits his teeth and swallows hard, turning again just as he feels the press of tears at his eyes. He paces to the front door, swinging it open._

_“Cas—” Dean calls after him. “Don’t go out—”_

_“Why, you’re scared that I’ll get killed?” Castiel asks bitterly from where he stands, not bothering to turn and look at his husband. “Quit your worrying, Dean. Do us all a favour.”_

_And with that, Castiel leaves._

_He stamps down the street, past all of their neighbours’ houses, past lines and lines of store fronts and café’s, until he has reached the very edge of town. He stops a moment, breathing heavily. He leans against the back of a grotty looking building, his thoughts buzzing around his skull as he attempts—somewhat fruitlessly—to get them to settle._

“Castiel,” _a voice dark and rich with what sounds like_ loathing _sounds somewhere near Castiel. The angel snaps up to attention, and—_

Castiel’s eyes fly open. He staggers back, his hand still pressed up against the rough brick of the building he had been leaning on—in front of him stands a terrifyingly familiar looking human—terrifying, terrifying, _terrifying—_

Castiel staggers back again, but the man only smirks.

“Scared?” He raises his eyebrows at the angel, taking a step forward. Castiel stares, petrified, into his eyes—his _yellow_ eyes—his—

“Stay back.” Castiel shakes his head, staggering back again.

“Or what?” The man smirks again. “You’ll lose your memory, again?”

Castiel trembles.

“Do you even remember me?” The man asks. “I wouldn’t doubt it—angels are notoriously fucking stupid, so one of you forgetting your own attacker wouldn’t be a huge fucking surprise—”

“—You—” Castiel stammers, terrified.

“Yes, me.” The man nods. The vulgar smile is still playing at his lips. “Remember, now?”

“It was you who—”

“Attacked you the first time?” He asks. “Yes. It was.”

“—Why—”

“Because I was the one who’d been sending you those fucking threats, idiot angel.” He shakes his head, still smirking. “And you couldn’t seem to take a damn hint, could you? You went straight ahead with all your plans of that book—and that interview—and, well, I didn’t _want_ to hurt you—although, maybe I did, but only a little—but you just _wouldn’t stop—”_ The man takes another few threatening steps closer to Castiel. The angel trembles and attempts to back away again, but it’s to little avail—the man continues in close pursuit. “—and now, apparently, you _still_ can’t take a hint, can you?”

“I don’t—” Castiel shakes his head, staggering backwards.

“You know damn well what I’m talking about.” The man spits. “Even after I beat the living shit out of you—left you nearly dead in the deserted alley beside that dirty building I followed you to—but you’re _still_ carrying on with your stupid fucking preaching on ‘equality’ and ‘liberation’ and other such bullshit, aren’t you?”

“Who are you?” Castiel trembles.

“Well, see, I can actually tell you, this time.” Castiel’s aggressor smirks. He pulls out something that catches the sun’s light for a moment, the light shining in Castiel’s eyes and disrupting his vision a moment, before his gaze manages to settle on it once more. His heart drops suddenly and violently into his stomach. “Seeing as I’m not planning for you to get out of this, alive.”

“But you were the first time?”

“The first time, as I said, angel, was a warning.”

“And now you intend to kill me.” Castiel states.

“You’re learning.” The human sneers. “Yes, I do. I’d say it’s something that I’m not going to particularly relish, but that wouldn’t be entirely true. Anyway. You got in my way—far too many times—you kept kicking up a fuss, and I can’t let that continue.”

“Not to be rude,” Castiel starts, only just managing to keep his voice even as he balls his fists at his sides, “but I’d like to know the name of the man who wants to kill me.”

“Of course.” Castiel’s aggressor leers yet again. “Azazel.”

“And I’m going to take a wild guess and say that you’re a supremacist.”

“I prefer to think of it as a preserver of the natural order.” Azazel smirks. “And you just couldn’t stop disrupting that order, could you, Castiel?”

“Couldn’t you have found a gun to kill me with? To, you know, make this all a little bit faster?”

“Oh, I considered it.” Azazel nods slowly. “I could have, you know. I have an awful lot of weapons at my disposal.” Castiel glances at the knife. Along the base of the blade lie several jagged teeth. Castiel winces. He imagines bone and flesh— _his_ bone and flesh—ripping and cracking under the blade. Bile rises to the back of his throat. “But then I thought—why _should_ I make this quick? I mean, I already have the police’s apathy on my side. Their dispiritedness has actually served me rather well, you know.” He sneers.

“I can imagine.” Castiel replies drolly.

“And in any case,” Azazel continues, “I wanted to make this painful. As painful for you as possible.”

“You’re sick.” Castiel shakes his head, his lips curling. A bitter taste has formed in the back of his mouth.

“Well, sick of angels thinking they can overturn centuries of my people’s work.”

“Centuries of _oppression!”_ Castiel shouts.

“Centuries of _justice!”_ Azazel spits back. “Anyway,” He breathes in, as though calming himself for a moment. “We’ve talked for quite long enough. I do believe it’s time that I wiped your filthy smear of an existence from the earth’s surface.”

Castiel staggers back again, but Azazel is quicker than he could have anticipated. He lunges, slashing at Castiel’s wing—the angel cries out in agony, stumbling as he attempts to twist out of reach of the man, but it’s no use—Azazel is playing a game—this is a _game_ to him—Castiel can tell as much by the crudely entertained leer still scrawled across his face—and Castiel glances to the deep gash in his wing, the skin and feathers around it ripped and tattered. Blood is lobbing steadily out of the wound; Castiel is sure Azazel’s blade reached his bone.

“I’m going to have particular fun mutilating those pretty wings of yours when I’m done, angel.” Azazel sneers. “So much fucking fun.”

Castiel steps back again, but another slash is aimed at his other wing, and it hits with agonising precision, ripping open the flesh of an entire section of Castiel’s wing. The angel cries out again—Azazel is backing him up against the wall, and there’s nowhere for Castiel to escape to, now, and Castiel’s vision is growing blurred with pain. Azazel pushes the angel back hard enough against the wall that his head is pressed against the brick—the blade is pressed to Castiel’s chest, and his entire frame trembles with fear.

“I could end it all now, you see, angel.” Azazel says, his voice quiet enough to be a whisper. “But I won’t.” He shakes his head. “See, by the time I’m done with you, you’ll be _begging_ for death. Begging me to end it all, and I, in all my kindness, will. But I want to have a little fun, first.” He sneers. He grabs one of Castiel’s hands and draws the tip of the knife across the angel’s palm with agonising slowness. Castiel attempts to cry out, but before he can, the blade has been swiped across his cheek, carving a deep groove into it which then begins lobbing blood thick and dark.

“You make any noises, and things get a whole lot more painful.” Azazel’s top lip curls. He moves his foot to slam it onto Castiel’s own, grinding the angel’s toes into the dust. Castiel winces and holds back his cry of agony—all that comes out is a broken sob. He’s certain he hears the sound of his own bones cracking. “It may be dark, but I still don’t want you drawing any more attention to us than needs be.” Azazel sneers as he repeats the action on Castiel’s other foot, before tracing the blade lightly over the juncture between Castiel’s neck and shoulder—it’s mocking him, it’s making Castiel wonder, deliberately, where he may be scarred next—it’s calculated and cruel and _shit,_ agonising as the blade is pressed slowly into the skin just above Castiel’s collarbone.

The angel lets out another low, trembling cry of pain, but Azazel’s hand moves to cup over his mouth.

Castiel trembles, looking away so as not to have to stare into the horrible eyes of his attacker, but Azazel’s hand in at his neck and forcing his gaze back to him. He presses hard at the angel’s throat, forcing the air out of Castiel’s lungs—and he can’t _breathe,_ and his throat is bruising under the rough, crushing hands of Azazel, and his lungs are burning and he’s gasping for air—and then the pressure lessens, somewhat. Castiel breathes in gasping, rasping sounds, his throat on fire.

“I’m gonna enjoy this so much, angel.” He spits, forcing Castiel’s chin upwards as he tilts the blade to a point on Castiel’s throat and presses lightly at it, piercing the flesh slowly. Castiel moans and shudders in agony—he just wishes it would _end,_ he wishes he could _die,_ he _wants to die—_

“I was thinking.” Azazel smirks. “What if I cut you up, one piece at a time? Carved you apart, while you were still alive, till you couldn’t take it anymore? What would you—”

Castiel’s knee slams into Azazel’s groin—the man staggers back, gasping with pain as Castiel rips the knife from his grasp and throws it away, stamping on the man’s chest once more before staggering away as fast as he can—but the damage to his wings has left him off balance, and he nearly topples, his body already bruised and aching, the cut at his throat making him gasp for breath and the taste of blood come mingling into his mouth—and before he has made it even twenty paces from his attacker, a sharp pain shatters into his leg and then is ripped from it just as quickly. He stares down, shocked, terrified, as he sees a fresh wound, blood pouring out of it faster than he would have thought possible—and then a deathly whisper comes at his ear, horrible thick arms holding him and stopping him from running.

“You should have killed me when you had the chance, angel.”

And Castiel collapses, the whole world turning dark as a grey mist descends on everything—he thinks he can make out a figure dashing towards him, another standing over him—and still more flooding closer to him—he can hear screaming and crying buzzing at his ears, but the world is slipping through his fingertips, slipping away from him, and then—nothing.

 

 

 

…

 

_“It’s my fault—oh my God, it’s all my fault, Sammy—”_

Castiel can hear the buzzing ringing in his ears. And crying. Buzzing and lots of crying, and the sound of more memories spitting and dancing around his inside skull. Breathing hurts. So does thinking. He resolves to lie back and simply _be._ He’s done this before. He’s been _here_ before.

Buzzing white. And shadows. And crying. And a pressure at his hand—or is that only a _memory_ of a pressure?

“Sammy, I drove him away, _again,_ I should’ve known better—I should’ve _known—”_

“How could you have predicted this, Dean?” A gentler voice soothes. “Listen, he’s alive—he’s recovering—his wounds weren’t fatal—”

“Yes, but they _nearly_ were.”

The pressure at Castiel’s hand squeezes hard again. Harder than life itself.

_“It’s all my fault.”_

The broken sob of a memory.

_“Cas, please come back to me—”_

Another memory? Or is this really happening?

Images flit behind Castiel’s eyelids. He can’t open them. He doesn’t want to try. Everything hurts. Breathing hurts. His lungs are burning. Why are his lungs burning?

“What if—what if when he wakes up, he can’t remember anything? What if he can’t remember anything, again—and we have to start all over—and Sammy I’d _only just_ got through to him—he’d only just started loving me again, I think—and I can’t do it again—I’m not strong enough—”

 _“Cas, please wake up. I know it’s all my fault—what I said was stupid—it was stupid,_ I _was stupid—but I really want you here right now. I can’t do it without you and I’m sorry and—”_ Sobbing cuts the disembodied voice off.      _“We need you._ I _need you.”_ More sobbing.

More sobbing.

And more.

“He’ll never forgive me.” The voice groans. “I—all of it was my fault. Both times, I drove him out of the house—”

“Dean, you can’t say that for certain—and he _loves_ you.”

“How can you love someone you can’t even remember?”

“You don’t know that he won’t remember you—”

“That’s what happened last time.” The voice groans. Dean? Was he called Dean? “I’m only speaking from experience.”

“You can’t—”

“You know what’s really fucked up, Sam? The reason we had a fight, this time, is ‘cause he asked me about _having children._ He thought we were ready to start thinking about adoption, again, and me being the fucking _idiot_ that I am—”

“It’s not your fault—”

_“It is.”_

Castiel sees shadows dancing behind the images in front of his eyelids. Shadows? Silhouettes? Reflections?

He can’t tell. He doesn’t know what’s real, anymore. He thinks he falls asleep, for some time. Or, deeper asleep. Further out of consciousness. It’s difficult to know what’s sleep and what isn’t. It’s difficult to know _anything,_ coming to think of it.

Myriads of images dance in front of his eyes. His head hurts. Something feels as though it is shifting into place. Or out of it? Castiel can hardly think, anymore. Everything hurts. His brain hurts. His wings hurt. More images flash in front of the screen of his eyes. Castiel wishes his mind would just let him be. It seems apparently incapable.

“Castiel—” A woman is sobbing. Woman? Girl? Young lady—someone Castiel is _sure_ he knows—

“I’m sorry, Rach—”

Rachel? Dean?

The images dance in front of Castiel’s eyes a little brighter. Something washes over him. He tries to breathe deeply. Dean. _Dean._ The dancing of images and skittering of memories doesn’t cease. Castiel’s mind has become as a storm. His thoughts swirl in a messy cacophony around his skull. He tries to move. It hurts more than anticipated.

“What’s happening to Azazel?”

“I want him dead.” Dean’s voice spits. “I want him dead—and if there was any justice in the world, he _would be—”_

Castiel tries to move again. The voices around him fall quiet.

“Did you see that?”

“He moved.” Dean’s voice croaks. Croaks with disbelief.

“I think he’s coming to.”

“Get a doctor—”

The storm in Castiel’s skull stills somewhat.

 _“Dean—”_ The angel rasps. Speaking hurts a lot more than he foresaw. He tries again, nonetheless. “Dean—” It’s like shards of glass are tearing at his throat. He wonders when it was he last spoke.

“Cas?” Comes Dean’s tentative voice. The familiar pressure is at his hand, again. Castiel realises that it is Dean’s hands wrapped around his own. “Cas, are you there? Can you hear me?” The angel tries once again to force his eyes to flutter open. At last, they do.

“Dean,” Castiel’s voice sounds rough, as though ridden with sleep.

“Cas?” Dean asks again. He swims into vision. He is crouched beside the bed Castiel is lying on—not even sat on the chair, Castiel notes with moderate amusement and affection—and the angel cannot help but beam. Or at least attempt to do so. It comes out, he is sure, as more of a rather pained grimace.

“Dean.” He replies, his voice more certain, this time.

“You can—” Dean’s voice trembles with something not unlike joy. “You’re awake—and you can—”

“I can what?” Castiel frowns softly.

“You can remember me.” Dean lets out a soft sob, grasping the angel’s hands tightly and burying his face into Castiel’s covers. “You can remember me.” He repeats, his voice saturated with joy.

“Of course I can, Dean.” Castiel chuckles. “I can remember everything.”

“You’re alive.” Dean laughs, a little deliriously. Castiel squeezes his hand softly.

“I don’t think you heard me correctly, Dean,” Castiel says gently. “I said, I can remember _everything.”_

“You—what?” Dean asks, disbelief flitting across his features. “—Everything?”

“Everything.” Castiel nods.

“Cas—when you say—”

Several people burst almost violently through the door. Castiel’s sister is one of them. He beams, almost unintentionally, at the sight of her.

“Rachel.”

“Castiel!” She nearly sobs, almost collapsing on the other side of the angel and pressing a kiss onto his forehead. “Castiel, Castiel—”

“Rachel, Rachel, Rachel!” Castiel chuckles. Rachel only giggles tearily and presses another kiss onto his hairline.

“You had us worried sick, you know.” She sighs, her face damp. “ _Again_.”

“Yeah, you freakin’ idiot.” A deliberately soft punch is landed on Castiel’s shoulder—it hurts a great deal, nonetheless. Castiel protests loudly and turns to see a familiar face.

“Ezekiel.” He almost laughs out. “That hurt.”

“Hey, you remember me! Dean said you might not!” The angel exclaims excitedly.

Dean blushes furiously.

“Can you remember me?” An excited voice asks. Castiel turns to see Jo grinning widely and expectantly—although somewhat nervously—and Castiel nods and chuckles.

“Yes.” He confirms. “Very well, in fact, Jo.”

“I told you, Dean.” Comes an almost triumphantly smug voice from the doorway. Castiel glances over to see Sam strolling towards him, bending down to ruffle his hair. The angel frowns indignantly. “Really glad to have you back, Cas. Dean was _insufferable_ while you were out of it—”

“Sammy, how about you shut the hell up?” Dean glares at his younger brother from where he kneels at Castiel’s side. “What would _you_ do if _your_ spouse was—”

“Castiel!” Ellen exclaims, bursting into the room. “I hope you know how worried about you we all were!” She wraps her arms around the angel in a tight hug—Castiel makes a muffled sound of pain into the embrace.

“Ellen, geez, stop smothering him! In fact, that goes for all of you!” Dean exclaims.

“Dean, there’s no need to get so _pissy_ with us—”

“Shut the hell up, Bobby.” Dean growls, his face pink.

“I think Dean wants a moment alone with Castiel.” Jo giggles.

Dean blushes and looks down.

“Yeah, you know what? That’d be freakin’ great, guys. Can everyone fuck off for just a moment, please?”

“That’s not how you’re meant to go about asking people to do stuff for you, Dean, but fine.” Ezekiel smirks. “We’ll get out of your hair.”

Once everyone has left—after much further giggling of apologies—Dean turns to Castiel with tears clouding at his eyes. He tangles both his hands with Castiel’s and squeezes softly.

“I’m so sorry—” He chokes out, the tears brimming over his eyes and onto his face, now.

“Whatever for?” Castiel frowns gently.

“For everything—” Dean shakes his head, choking out his words. “—I shouldn’t have—”

Castiel brings Dean’s closed hand to his lips and kisses his knuckles softly. The gesture stops his babbling all but completely. It hurts a little—Castiel has a cut on his lip, although he has no idea what formed it—perhaps him falling to the ground; but seeing Dean’s face seep with relief is more than enough to make the pain brought on by the motion entirely worth it.

“What happened?” He asks softly. “After I collapsed?”

“—You—” Dean stammers. “You were in a pretty bad way. Blood everywhere. I wanted to be sick.” His face turns a little pale. “I thought you weren’t gonna make it—but someone had called an ambulance—someone else had called the police for Azazel—they had to restrain him—you’d attracted quite the crowd in the end, Castiel—and they had to restrain me, to stop me killing Azazel—‘cause after you went under, I came pretty close to beating the living shit out of him—”

“Dean,” Castiel almost laughs, shaking his head.

“I thought you were going to _die,_ Castiel.” Dean almost sobs out. Castiel feels his expression soften. He pulls Dean’s head down to place a gentle kiss on his husband’s forehead. Dean lets out another broken sob and almost clings onto Castiel’s body, holding the angel tightly in his arms, his frame trembling. “I thought I’d lost you—” Dean chokes out, shaking his head. “—I thought is was my fault, ‘cause I’d driven you away—”

“It wasn’t, Dean.” Castiel reminds, gently. He presses a kiss into Dean’s soft hair. “Not at all.”

Dean merely continues in his trembling and holds tightly to Castiel’s body. It hurts the angel, somewhat, but he won’t complain—not when Dean is in this vulnerable a state—not when Dean _needs_ him as he does, right now.

“I thought you weren’t going to remember anything, all over again, when you came to.” Dean shudders out. Castiel presses his husband’s head against his chest.

“Well, I do, Dean.” He says softly. “So there was no need to worry.”

Dean lifts his head and pauses a moment, worrying at his lip.

“You said you remember everything, now…” He says, quietly. “Did you mean that? How can you tell?”

Castiel pauses a moment. He glances down at his sheets.

“Well,” He starts, slowly. “For one thing, I _feel_ like me again. I don’t feel so lost. And for another, I could tell you that you’re allergic to cats,” Castiel says, winding his fingers slowly around Dean’s. “And that you told me that on our second date. When I said that I really loved animals.”

Dean’s lips twitch softly upwards. His eyes are shrouded in both disbelief and by his own tears.

“I know that you know all of Clint Eastwood’s movies.” Castiel beams. _“Every single one.”—_ Dean actually breaks out a laugh, at this—“And that you like to quote them a little too much.” Castiel chuckles. “And that you made me sit through a bunch of them during a movie-fest we had, together.”

“You said you liked them.” Dean can hardly supress his smile.

“They were good,” Castiel shrugs, “what was far better was watching your smile as each of them opened. And watching you mouth each of the lines.”

“You spent more time watching me than watching the films?” Dean raises his eyebrows at the angel, apparently unable to supress his beam.

“Well,” Castiel chuckles quietly, “I find you infinitely fascinating. Is that a bad thing?”

“No,” Dean blushes, shaking his head quickly. “Just—I don’t know—”

“You always get embarrassed by my attention.” Castiel beams, squeezing Dean’s hand and stroking his thumb across his husband’s knuckles. “That’s another thing about you.”

“Yeah, but you could’ve just observed that, any time.” Dean points out.

“Alright then,” Castiel concedes, “how about the fact that you call salad ‘rabbit food’.”

“That’s what it is.” Dean wrinkles his nose. “And I’m a _person,_ not a freakin’ _rodent—”_

“—You love baseball, because Bobby taught you how to play.” Castiel beams. “Your dad took you to a heavy metal festival when you were only four, and your mom was furious when the two of you came back.”

Dean bursts out laughing and nods, wiping tears from his eyes.

“Yeah, she threw a fit.” He confirms.

“Your first girlfriend was called Amanda.” Castiel continues. “When I met Bobby and Ellen for the first time, Ellen made burgers because she heard how much I liked them. When you first brought Sam round to your dorm in college, it was before you and I were together, and he kept on cascading me with questions, and you got really embarrassed. When I met Jo later that day, she actually _told_ me that she thought you were in love with me.”

“She didn’t.” Dean shakes his head, his expression filled with disbelief and embarrassment.

“She did.” Castiel chuckles.

“I’m gonna kill her.” Dean laughs, running a mortified hand through his hair.

“It was years ago.” Castiel shrugs, chortling softly. “And I was flattered. And very happy to hear it. And very in love with you, too.”

“You weren’t.” Dean laughs, shaking his head again.

“I definitely was.” Castiel chuckles, squeezing Dean’s hand.

Dean blushes. Adorable isn’t a good enough word to describe it.

“Okay,” He says. “What else?”

“The ring you wear on your middle finger was your mother’s wedding ring. You’re afraid of flying. I had to hold your hand all the way to Vienna. Which is where we had our honeymoon. You wear your father’s leather jacket. The amulet you wear was a Christmas present from your brother when you were both children.”

“Yeah,” Dean nods, having to look at the floor to prevent himself from tearing up any further. “That’s all true.”

“When you first met my sister, you were so nervous and so desperate to make a good impression that you tripped over your own feet and accidently closed a door on your fingers.”

Dean blushes a furious pink.

“Yeah, that’s a moment I’d prefer not to relive, thanks, Cas—”

“And on our wedding night, you pressed your cheek against my chest and told me you were trying to memorize the sound of my heartbeat.”

“I was pretty tipsy—” Dean flushes.

“I remember.” Castiel chuckles. “So was I.”

“We were so drunk and stupid and in love.” Dean laughs, cheeks pink.

“It was only two years ago, Dean.” Castiel smiles softly. “If you ask me, we still kind of _are.”_

“I’m glad to hear you’re still in love with me, Cas.” Dean laughs, shaking his head.

“Always.” Castiel beams. “That’s something I told you on our wedding night. And I meant it.”

Dean’s eyes cloud over with tears again.

“I’m really back.” Castiel says softly, squeezing Dean’s hand again. Tears leak onto his husband’s face.

“No,” Dean shakes his head, beaming. “You never left.”


	27. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this one took so disgustingly long. You were probably thinking it would never come. Well, um, here it is, and better late than never? ...I hope that can be applied here. I also hope it'll be worth the wait. Honestly, I was sort of putting off writing out this last-word of the story, partly because of how attached I've grown to it. It's kind of sad to see it end.
> 
> Well, anyway, I hope you've all really enjoyed it so far. I've had so much fun planning this one out, and I just want to thank each and every one of you for all your support, whether big or small. All the comments left on this were such incredible motivation to keep me going, and were unbelievably kind! Gah, thank you all so much, I hope you enjoy!

 

“Okay, tell me another thing you remember.”

Castiel chuckles and drags his thumb across Dean’s knuckles, shaking his head gently.

“Another?” He laughs softly, squeezing Dean’s hand.

Cas’s laughter has always sounded like music to Dean. Whether he’s laughing at something dorky Dean has said or chuckling at Dean tripping his own feet, Dean has always loved the sound. He’s loved knowing he can make Cas laugh. He’s always loved knowing he can make Cas happy. And holy fuck, after so much anxiety and worry where all Dean could think of was the fact that Cas would never remember his husband again, listening to Cas laugh is all that Dean needs to hear to make the tension in his shoulders ease out of him slowly.

“Another.” Dean beams widely. Castiel chuckles and shakes his head, pulling Dean’s hand to his mouth to press a tender kiss to the centre of his husband’s palm.

Dean loves listening to Cas’s memories. He loves being reassured of the fact that _yes,_ Cas can remember everything again. He can remember everything about Dean, and he still loves Dean—and maybe he _always_ loved Dean; maybe he just didn’t realise it.

“Alright,” Castiel hums softly, looking up at the ceiling as though sifting through his mind and figuring out which moment of his and Dean’s relationship to bring up, this time. “Remember when we first moved in together, and we had a huge movie marathon? We stayed up pretty much the whole night, just watching crappy eighties films.”

“They weren’t crappy.” Dean attempts to frown indignantly, but he can tell by Castiel’s amused expression that he’s failed miserably. “They were just—” He tries to supress his smirk. It’s really not easy.

“Crappy.” Castiel finishes Dean’s sentence for him.

“Characterful.” Dean corrects, attempting to stop his lips from pulling upwards into a smile. Again, he fails. Cas bursts out laughing.

“Characterful?”

“Characterful.” Dean repeats, snorting out a laugh. “And stop taking the piss.”

“You make it surprisingly difficult, you know.”

“Fuck off.” Dean rolls his eyes, unable to supress his grin. “What else do you remember?”

“I remember that you’re a total nerd.” Castiel chuckles. Dean shakes his head.

“What makes you say that?”

“You’re obsessed with making weird references to movies. Most of them sci-fi.”

“That doesn’t make me a nerd.”

“The first time I met you, it was when you were playing video games with my roommate—”

“Cas, everyone played video games back then— _you_ were the weird one by _not_ playing—”

“You say ‘back then’ as though it were a long time ago.” Castiel snorts softly.

“It _was_ a long time ago.”

“Six years ago?”

“That’s a long time—” Dean attempts to protest, but Castiel barks out another laugh, and Dean cannot help but chuckle along. “Alright, so not _that_ long ago. But still. I’ve changed.”

Cas pulls an unconvinced face.

“I am _not_ a nerd!” Dean exclaims, laughter tumbling off his lips.

“You keep telling yourself that, Dean.” Cas grins.

“Fuck off.”

…

The look on Cas’s face whenever Dean comes to visit him is possibly the most beautiful thing Dean thinks he’s ever seen. Definitely the thing that’s made him the most happy, out of all of this. It’s like the guy actually _waits_ for Dean to arrive, each day—just because he enjoys Dean’s company that much. Because he misses Dean that much when he’s gone. Holy shit, it makes Dean so happy.

Dean visits every day. Of course he does. How could he not? After work, he comes round and fills Cas in on all of his day, everything that’s happened. Sometimes, he’s even able to swing by during his lunch breaks. He loves how happy it makes Cas to see him.

When Cas first got his memory back, Dean spent what was apparently just under two hours getting Cas to tell him everything he could remember. After a while, Ellen and everybody else got pissed off with waiting and told Dean to hurry the fuck up and stop hogging Cas, but Dean couldn’t help it. Cas was—well, Cas was _him_ again; he was hurt and injured and in a bad way, but he _knew_ Dean, he loved Dean, just like he used to. Maybe more than he used to. Something tells Dean that this whole experience has brought the two of them even closer together than before.

Cas had been in a real terrible way when Dean had seen him collapse on the street beyond their house. Dean had—fuck… Dean had thought his husband was going to die. He thought Cas _had_ died. And he’d seen red. He probably would’ve killed the prick who did all that to his husband, but someone had been holding him back. All Dean can remember is the sounds of his own sobs and screams in his ears; and Azazel’s leering, ugly face, slightly bruised and cut from the damage Cas dished out to him, and the hits Dean managed to throw before someone grabbed his arms and pulled him away. And Dean can remember the ambulance ride with Cas. The way his head pounded. The way he couldn’t even _think_ for grief and worry. The way Cas’s body just lay so horribly still and limp on the stretcher.

And then visiting him every day he didn’t recover. That was torture, too. Dean couldn’t help but blame himself. That’s all Dean can _ever_ do.

“You look rather lost in thought.” Castiel observes softly, grazing his hand up Dean’s arm. Dean draws himself out of his daze and turns to look at Cas. His lips are tugged upwards, entirely unintentionally.

“Just thinking.” Dean shrugs.

Cas’s wounds have healed considerably. The first few days before he came to, he had all manner of cuts across his face. The day he woke up, most of these had healed to the point that they were hardly noticeable, aside from one thick cut across his bottom lip. The injuries to both his wings, however, were a little more serious. Azazel made a real effort to carve him up in any way he could think. He broke both of Cas’s feet and most of his toes. He also carved a pretty nasty groove into the space just above Cas’s collarbone and into the centre of his neck. And that’s not even considering the wounds done to his leg—the blade tore through skin and flesh and bone, splintering Cas’s bone pretty severely. Cas doesn’t complain, but Dean knows that it’s agony for him.

“What about?” Castiel asks. His hand grazes up Dean’s wrist, snapping Dean out of his daze again.

“How lucky I am to have you.” Dean laughs breathlessly. “Still.”

“I’m lucky to have you, too.” Castiel points out.

“I meant, how lucky it is that you’re still alive. Considering everything. I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t made it through.”

“I made it through.” Cas says softly, squeezing Dean’s wrist. “So you needn’t dwell any more on it.”

Dean sighs softly.

“Yeah, of course. Sorry.”

Cas had his interview in the hospital. All things considered, it made the whole ordeal a lot more dramatic—and therefore interesting—for the audience. And it was a pretty huge success as a result. Reporters have been plaguing Dean with questions, and asking to be allowed some time to visit Cas and ask him a few more questions; but the two of them have had a little bit too much of that, lately. They want some peace, first.  Peace, then questions. That’s what Dean has had to inform them, every time.

“I was thinking,” Cas says softly. Dean snaps out of his daydream yet again. He’s mind cannot help but wander, today. “When I’ve recovered fully, and am permitted to leave—we could move on to bigger things. Or, start _thinking_ of moving on to bigger things.”

“What do you mean by that?” Dean frowns, perplexed.

“I mean,” Cas’s lips twitch upwards, “children.” He says plainly. Dean’s mind draws a numb blank. “Starting a family. Of our own.”

“You—”

“Do you remember when we first talked of having children?” Castiel asks softly. “Realistically so, I mean. Do you remember when we first decided that it was the time to pursue that goal?”

Dean swallows and nods.

“It feels like an awfully long time ago.” Cas hums gently. “At least to me.” He glances up at Dean, his lips twitching upwards into a playful smile.

“You really—” Dean stammers, his throat dry and raw.

“I really want to.” Cas nods. “Do you?”

Dean’s hands tremble as they are held by Castiel. He can only nod vigorously in response to his husband’s question. “Of course. Always—I’ve always wanted—”

“Good.” Castiel beams. “Is it something you’d like to do now, though? Or soon, rather?”

“Yeah.” Dean nods breathlessly. “I’d love to.”

“Children.” Cas laughs softly. The sound is music. It’s music, to Dean.

“Children.” Dean repeats, his voice cracking in his throat.

Children. With Castiel. Soon.

Three months ago, Dean wouldn’t have thought it possible. He thought that with Cas unable to remember anything, anything of Dean, that dream was long dead. Apparently not. Apparently it’s very much alive. And Dean—God help him—Dean thinks he’s going to explode with joy.

 

…

 

“She’s so small.” Dean beams, the tiny baby cradled neatly in his arms.

“She’s a baby, Dean.” Castiel chuckles, his eyes creasing at their corners with how widely he is smiling. Dean glances up at Castiel, the grin still set firmly at his features, and rolls his eyes.

“Can I see?” Claire jumps up and down, tugging at Castiel’s sleeve. Castiel places a gentle hand on her shoulder to calm her, before picking their oldest daughter up and balancing her at his side, her arms wound neatly around his neck. Claire peers excitedly at the newest addition to the family—Mary. She has dark brown wings, the colour of mahogany or deep, rich coloured tree bark; and eyes of the same colour.

“She’s so little,” Castiel hears Claire gasp, the tiniest of sounds, as she stares in awe at her younger sister.

“That’s what your daddy’s been saying all the way back from the hospital.” Castiel chuckles, squeezing Claire tightly against his side. She looks up at him with wide, expressive eyes. Castiel glances down and breaks out into an unintentional beam, pressing his forehead against Claire’s.

“Can I hold her?” She asks, her voice quiet with apparently overpowering excitement.

“In a little while, Claire.” Castiel says gently. “She’s sleeping right now.”

“Is she tired?”

“Very.” Dean grins, bouncing the new-born baby gently in his arms. “And she needs a good rest before she gets to meet her big sister, properly. It’s gonna be pretty exciting for the both of you.”

Claire reaches out and runs her small fingertips through the downy feathers of Mary’s wings, impossibly fuzzy with her infancy.

“How come her wings are so fluffy?”

“She’s only a few days old, Claire.” Castiel chuckles. “Every angel’s wings is like that, at her age.”

“Why’s that?”

“They’re just new and especially delicate.” Castiel shrugs, heaving Claire a little higher up into his arms.

“So you’ve got to be super careful with them.” Dean glances up from the baby and into Claire’s shocking blue-grey eyes.

“I will, I will.” Claire nods absently, staring intensely at her new younger sister. “Will she want to play games with me?”

“When she’s a bit older, probably.” Dean laughs softly. “For the first few months, babies can’t do much other than eat, sleep, and cry.”

“That’s boring.” Claire pouts.

“For you, yeah.” Dean nods. “For me and Cas, it’s gonna be _super_ stressful.”

“Why do people bother with babies?”

“Probably because they’re really exciting.” Dean chuckles. Claire presses her lips together and shrugs, unconvinced.

“They don’t _sound_ very exciting.”

“And because they’re really cute.”

Claire glances down at Mary, her hardened expression faltering somewhat.

“I guess…” She says softly, screwing up her mouth as she stares at the baby. Mary lets out a tiny yawn, her unbelievably small hands bunching into fists. Claire breaks out into a beam at the sight. “Okay,” Claire concedes, looking back up to Dean and Castiel. “Very cute.”

 

…

Five years have passed since Castiel lost his memory. Five years since he and Dean took steps in pursuing adoption. Just over four years since they adopted their first child, Claire, at the age of three. Two since they adopted their second, Mary, who was a new-born baby at the time that she was brought into their family. Only a few weeks have passed with the addition of five-month old Ben.

It’s all a bit like a dream, for Dean. None of it feels quite—well, none of it feels real. Aside from the nights when one of the kids—now Ben with his crying, more often than not—wakes him and Cas up. Mary gets a lot of nightmares. Claire gets thirsty during the night and apparently it’s up to Dean or Cas to get her a drink. Ben—well, Ben is a baby. He has every excuse to be loud during the night.

But Dean wouldn’t change any of it—not in a million years. He’s too happy for that. Way too happy.

Well, maybe he’d make the kids sleep a little better at night. Dean thinks he’s suffering from sleep deprivation.

Cas’s hands graze idly through Dean’s hair, his nails scraping lightly against Dean’s scalp in the way that Dean is sure Cas _knows_ he likes. Dean lets out a soft sound of approval and tilts his head back contentedly as the angel bends down to place a delicate kiss onto Dean’s forehead.

“Eugh.” Claire wrinkles her nose and turns away from her parents at the breakfast table. Castiel chuckles softly and squeezes Dean’s shoulders before taking a seat next to him. Dean continues to attempt to feed a reluctant Ben from where he sits, kicking his feet in his highchair. His jet black wings have flecks of breakfast in them, evidence of the earlier uproar involving him thinking it would be a good damn idea to _wear_ his baby food, instead of eat it.

“Ben—” Dean sighs, attempting to still the hyperactive infant—“—Stay _still_ —Ben—”

“Do you want me to take over?” Castiel chortles quietly. Dean rolls his eyes. “You can help pack Claire’s bag for school, instead.

“Alright,” Dean nods. “If you really think you can do any better. Claire, are you done with breakfast?”

“Yep!” Claire exclaims, swinging her legs over the other side of her chair and jumping off of it.

After helping Claire pack her bag, Dean jogs back upstairs to find his wallet and nearly collides with Cas on the corridor, who has just finished getting Ben dressed and has the little guy sat safely in the crook of his right arm.

“Sorry—” Dean steers out of the way just in time and avoids potential disaster. Castiel snorts gently. “—Have you got everything?” He asks.

“Yes, Dean.” Cas confirms, grazing the back of his free hand against Dean’s cheek. “Is Claire ready?”

“Yep,” Dean nods. “She was last time I checked. Unless she’s lost her shoes in the time it took for me to run upstairs.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time.” Cas chuckles.

“It wouldn’t.” Dean agrees, laughing softly as he treads into his and Cas’s bedroom and spots the car keys, grabbing them and his wallet before heading out again.

“Cas?” He calls down the stairs of their home.

“Yes, Dean?”

“You sure Ellen and Bobby are okay with babysitting Mary and Ben, today?”

“I’m sure.” Comes Cas’s reply, rumbling with amusement as Dean hops down the stairs. “You know them,” Castiel smiles as soon as Dean has reached the base of the stairs. “They love looking after their grandchildren.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Dean laughs. “But that means you’ve gotta be on your best behaviour today, Mary.” Dean instructs, ruffling their daughter’s hair.

“Why?” She frowns up at Dean.

“’Cause Ellen and Bobby are our favourite babysitters. They don’t charge anything.”

Mary only pulls a confused face in response to her father’s answer.

“Don’t worry about it, Mary.” Castiel chuckles, handing Dean Ben to hold, and picking Mary up. “Your daddy’s only teasing you.”

“Oh.” Mary frowns a moment.

“Are we ready to go?” Dean asks.

“I think so.” Castiel nods. “Claire, have you got everything?”

“Um—” Claire frowns a moment, looking about her. Dean snorts and picks up her backpack, holding it out for their daughter. Her face lights up as soon as she spots it and grabs it from Dean. “Yes!” She exclaims.

“Good.” Cas’s lips twitch upwards.

“Why aren’t I being looked after by Granny and Grandpa?” Claire frowns as Cas begins to make his way out the front door.

“You _are,_ ” Dean answers, pushing softly at Claire’s back to indicate for her to move forward and out the house. “Just not now. You’ve got school. They’re gonna pick you up, _after_ school. We’re dropping Ben and Mary off at their house, first, then taking you to school.”

“And why aren’t _you_ looking after us, like normal?” Claire frowns in protest.

“Because,” Dean says, placing Mary in her seat in the car and doing up her seatbelt, “your dad and I have got something pretty important going on.”

“And what’s that?” Claire asks as Dean opens the door of the driver’s seat and gets in the car. Dean snorts softly as he glances back at his daughter, frowning indignantly from where she is sat in the back of the vehicle. Claire has always been something of a headstrong kid. She can put on a surprisingly adult voice whenever she wants to, and honestly, it’s a little creepy.

“Because your dad is gonna be on the news.” Dean beams. “And they wanted to interview him.”

“And you have to go, too?”

“They wanted to interview me, as well. But the focus is gonna be on Cas.” Dean grins over to his husband as he gets into the passenger seat. “It’s very exciting.”

“Is dad gonna be famous?”

“Yep.” Dean beams, before Cas has time to answer. He grins over to Castiel when his husband frowns indignantly over at him.

“ _Dean_ ,”

“He’s gonna be a celebrity.” Dean laughs, starting up the car.

“Dean—”

“You know, kids, he kind of already is.”

“Is he?” Claire asks excitedly.

“Yep,” Dean grins widely. “He’s written books, he’s been on rallies and had speeches, he’s been on _TV_ before—”

“I’m probably famous for the particular circle that I’m in, Claire.” Cas interrupts, before Dean can go any further. “And mainly only famous _within_ that circle.”

“Don’t listen to him, Claire.” Dean shakes his head. “Your dad’s being modest. People all over the world know who he is.”

“What’s modest mean?” Mary asks, looking up from the colouring book she had previously been absorbed by.

“Humble. Not big-headed.” Dean explains.

“Dean, you do an awfully good job of embarrassing me. Even in front of our children.” Castiel shakes his head.

“Yeah, and I’m telling the truth. And only ‘cause I love you.” Dean beams. Castiel chuckles softly and rolls his eyes, reaching out his hand to graze the backs of his knuckles against the ridge of Dean’s cheekbone. Dean cannot help but grin bashfully at the touch. Even now, he cannot help but be both delighted and embarrassed by the attention Cas gives him.

Like he’s reading Dean’s thoughts, Castiel glances over to Dean and smiles warmly, setting Dean’s heart on fire and causing Dean to bask in the warm glow that sets simmering all over his body whenever Cas gives him _that_ look.

 _‘Love you’._ Cas mouths over to Dean. Dean feels his eyes crease at their corners with how widely he beams in response.

 _‘Love you, too.’_ He whispers back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What is also in store for Dean and Cas in this universe, not included in this fic:
> 
> \- Cas carried on with his activism, right up to his retirement (and beyond). He and Dean end up moving out of the city (They actually lived a little on the outskirts, but you get the picture) into a little house near the coast. They can hear the sea from their home. Their old house is ceded down to their oldest child, Claire. She ends up marrying a long, dark haired angel called Autumn and the two of them have lots of grandkids for Dean and Cas to come visit. (Side note, Dean does not cry when Claire tells him she is engaged. No. No no no. Well, maybe. Definitely.)  
> \- Sam marries a blonde haired girl called Jess he went to high-school with and had some horrible kind of crush on where he couldn't even look at her without going red (Jess thought he suffered from an extremely odd amount of allergic reactions), let alone manage to talk to her. (Dean and Sam have more in common than they would care to admit). They caught up a few months after Cas' recovery, and married a few years later. Dean was the best man at their wedding (obviously) and once again did not cry. Not at all. But that goes without saying.  
> \- Jo remains steadfastly opposed to the very concept of marriage for years, thinking that love turns people into utter idiots. (It does, by the way.) That is, until meeting a spunky red-headed angel who makes her blood catch fire. She doesn't admit it to Dean, or Sam, at first - but she's smitten. Utterly and entirely smitten. And her older brothers never stop teasing her for it.  
> \- Racism is still something that angels are forced to struggle against. But after the publication of Cas' fourth book, and his interview in which his experience (highlighted over this story) is televised, people explode, as does the cause. Actively struggling against oppression is something that people take part in a lot more, and very importantly, a lot of humans become aware of the fact that they benefit from an unfair system. Castiel becomes an icon of social-justice. He decides quickly that he hates the limelight. But Dean couldn't be more proud of him.
> 
>  
> 
> I can't honestly say when my next story will be up. I really badly need some beta readers, so if that's the kind of thing you'd be up for, please say. The story is going to be a medieval fantasy au of Dean and Cas, both princes from different kingdoms, who have been promised to one another. It follows them and how they fall in love over several years. I really hope you all enjoy it as much as you've enjoyed this one!
> 
> Other than that, thank you so much for reading. I really don't know what else to say, other than that. Bye for now! xx


End file.
